


Overture

by dirtymudblood



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Jealousy, Pining Draco Malfoy, Possessive Behavior, Protectiveness, Secret Admirer, Semi-Dark Draco, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:13:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 42,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26290933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtymudblood/pseuds/dirtymudblood
Summary: When everything is going wrong; he’s there. Lurking in the shadows. Helping her.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 423
Kudos: 1186





	1. Overture

**Author's Note:**

> I have many loves in life and one of them is the Phantom of the Opera and another is Dramione. So, duh, I had to put them together. Most of this fic is pre-written so expect regular updates!

_Let me be your freedom  
_ _Let daylight dry your tears  
_ _I'm here, with you, beside you  
_ _To guard you and to guide you_

* * *

Envy is the only one of the seven deadly sins not rooted in selfish joy. In glutton, your belly is full. You have dined on rich foods to your hearts contents and your stomach’s capacity. In greed, you bathe in luxury. Gold bars and coins and jewels that, while can’t buy happiness, certainly can get you a comfortable home or a holiday anywhere from _here._ In lust, you know of the pulsing and aching pleasures of sex. And you crave it insatiably. 

In envy, there is a lack of something. Your belly isn’t full, you are not living in a comfortable home, the one you lust after is not yours. 

In Greek mythology, it is Hera’s envy for Aphrodite that sparked the Trojan War. In the Bible, it is from envy that Cain murdered Abel. In the Hindu _Mahabharata_ , it is from envy that Duryodhana waged war against his cousins the Pandavas. In real life, it is from envy that Hermione Granger will wring Harry Potter’s neck. 

You want your friends to be successful, but sometimes only to an extent. You want them to be successful, but not overtly more successful than _you._

Like a friend announcing a pregnancy just after you’ve miscarried. Or an engagement after a particularly nasty breakup of yours. 

So while Harry gestures widely and excitedly about his wife and his new home and the impending birth of his first child, Hermione is happy for him. But only to an extent. 

“Ginny’s aversion to food is getting worse, though. One minute she’s craving egg drop soup and _only_ from the Chinese restaurant down the road and by the time I’ve made it home, she wants to throw up at the sight of it.”

“Hm.”

“I think I’ve eaten three gallons of egg drop soup in the last month alone. And it’s not _bad,_ but I wish her craving would be something besides _soup.”_

“Mhmm.”

“She’s getting bigger, too. She’s always been so skinny it’s odd to see her with a belly, but I love it.”

“Mm.”

“Mrs. Weasley mentioned it the other day and I think Ginny almost hexed her for it.”

“Wow.”

Harry, who had been talking while focusing his gaze on the arrangement of his salad suddenly turned his eyes up to his friend who sat stirring her coffee absentmindedly, gazing at the cafeteria around them and not paying attention to the recounting of his wife’s pregnant woes. 

“Hermione?”

“Hm?” The twin stirring sticks paused in the liquid and her eyes snapped to meet his. 

“Were you even listening to me?” Harry shook his head. 

“Of course!”

“Oh really, then what is it Ginny has been craving this month?”

“I… Peanut butter?”

Harry sighed, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. “Not even close. Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind?”

“Nothing!” Hermione huffed, sipping her coffee indignantly. 

“There’s something pulling your attention from me…” Harry paused, “Is it Ron?”

Yes. No. Most of it… Some of it. 

Harry sighed, “I know it’s hard with him on the road all the time--”

Hermione snorted. It was _not_ hard with him on the road all the time as the Keeper for the Chudley Cannons. In fact, it was decidedly _pleasant_ when he was on the road. It was quiet in the apartment. No loud games over the radio or constant visitors. She could go to dinner and not be cornered by groups of pubescent girls awestruck by not only the other male figure in the Golden Trio, but also their prized Keeper. 

“Harry, it’s-- It’s beyond Ron.”  
Harry bit the cuticle of his pointer finger. “Okay. What’s beyond Ron?” 

Hermione was silent. Harry took one of her hands in his across the table. “You used to tell me everything. Before, you know. Remember every Thursdays in sixth year when Ron had detention and we’d sit in the library and you’d tell me about your crush on Ron and I’d tell you about Ginny and we’d complain about Snape and you’d confide in me about your parents… I miss that.”

Hermione watched with thin lips as Harry shoved his salad to the side of the table and reached into his satchel to remove some files and spread them onto the table. He produced a dry quill and readjusted his glasses. 

“So… pretend we’re in the library.” 

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh. This was her Harry. He was her family, the only family she had left. 

“Alright, alright,” she laughed as Harry pretended to take diligent notes with his quill. “It’s not _just_ Ron I should say. He’s great. He’s sweet and caring and he loves his family… But when he’s home it feels more like entertaining a guest, you know?”

Harry nodded. 

“I feel like I have to be constantly paying attention to him because I don’t know when he’ll leave next. Then when he _does_ leave, I just feel so drained of energy. He tells me he wants to propose and start a family of our own, but I can’t imagine having a baby, or _babies_ as he’d like, while he tours so much. Especially not with this job.”

Hermione sighed, focusing again on stirring her coffee. “Mr. Burk is an absolute slave driver. He’ll leave by two and expect us to stay until seven when we’re supposed to be out by five. He gives me impossible projects and hints at promoting me upon completion but then takes all the credit when it goes in front of the board so I can’t even reference my accomplishments because they’re all his.” 

Harry gave her a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry, Hermione. I know that situation must feel impossible but try to believe me when I say it’ll get better soon.” 

She could try. But what was the point? It had been five years of this. Five years of a hopeless romance with Ron. Five years of an empty flat. Five years of being stuck in the same job, in the same position, in the same office. 

Instead she nodded, thanked Harry for being a good ear, and finished their lunch in peace. Harry recounted his story of the egg drop soup which did make Hermione feel better, just for a moment, to imagine Harry begrudgingly slurping on soup so it didn’t go to waste. They parted with promises to meet for dinner (anything other than Chinese food) over the weekend. 

Hermione was weaving through the new influx of ministry employees when she ran into a wall with an _ooph._

Only it wasn’t a wall, but a big, tall ferret. 

“Granger.” 

Hermione smoothed out her skirt of invisible wrinkles, lifting her chin to look him in the eyes. 

“Malfoy.”

Draco Malfoy, although not a ministry employee, was a common figure in the building. Malfoy Medicines with an apothecary started by Draco after his graduation using the money left over after reparations and the imprisonment of his father and death of his mother. Being out from the thumb of his parents agreed with him. In just a few short years his one apothecary in Knockturn Alley (the only real estate that would allow the Malfoy heir to own a business) turned into two in Diagon Alley, turned into 52 across wizarding Europe and one the United States. He had regained his wealth and then some, all ethically and legally. 

Even Hermione was a loyal patron. 

He often came to the Ministry to request licenses for ingredient extractions and unfortunately, it always fell in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures in which Hermione worked as many of his requests for ingredients could only be found on protected lands. 

It wasn’t that he was rude or condescending or intimidating as he had once been. In fact, he was perfectly pleasant. Even to Hermione’s squib secretary he was polite and charming during his visits. He didn’t boast his wealth and, if Hermione wasn’t constantly looking over his proof of income forms, she wouldn’t have even known how far his apothecary's financial success went. The first time she saw the number, and all its zeros, she had spit coffee all over it. 

The real reason Hermione hated seeing him was envy. She never thought she’d ever be envious of the Malfoy boy, but here she was. It was so hard not to be. He was always so sure of himself. Hell, he started an entire company when the wizarding world had turned their backs on him. And still he persevered. And here Hermione was, rubber stamping his forms. 

She didn’t realize how long she had been standing there until she watched an eyebrow quirk in her direction. 

“What?” 

“Well,” he gestured to her form. “You’re sort of in the way for me to enter.”

Hermione wanted to die. And go to hell to drown in the freezing water of her seventh deadly sin. 

“Oh--I--sorry about that.” 

She quickly turned to the side to let him pass, shifting her face down so he didn’t see her blush. She felt his arm graze her chest as he moved past. 

“Not a problem, Granger. I’ll see you around.” 

* * *

Home was a one bedroom, one bathroom apartment above Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. There were many pros and cons to living above a sweet shop, but as she walked through the door licking pistachio gelato from her bottom lip, she couldn’t quite remember the cons. 

She sighed as she took in the sight of her-- _their_ \-- flat. Ron had just come home for a short period of time while the Cannon’s had a home game versus Spain. Initially she had been thrilled to finally spend some time with her boyfriend, but it quickly turned into dread. 

She wanted to read. In silence. She wanted to go to bed at a sensible hour. She wanted the flat to be clean. Not pristine, she wasn’t particular about it, but clean. 

And the bottles and scattered crumbs on the coffee table was a testament to the time Ron had spent at home. 

Hermione picked up the note on the table waiting for her. 

_Hermione,_

_I tried to wait for you to come home but you were running late from work, again. The coach wants us to get a headstart on practices so we’re traveling to Belgium a little earlier than expected. I’ll owl you when we’ve gotten settled in the hotel. I’ll be home on Wednesday. Let’s get dinner when I get back?_

_Love you,_

_Ron_

Hermione sighed in both relief and frustration. She used the note to collect the crumbs and disposed of the empty bottles before settling herself into bed, letting herself spread out on the extra space and wished to dream for a better life. One that she would envy.


	2. Think of Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for so much love on the first chapter! And all my love to you guys.

_Long ago, it seems so long ago_   
_How young and innocent we were_   
_She may not remember me_   
_But I remember her_

* * *

  
The weekend had come and gone blissfully uneventful. Harry had sent her an owl Saturday morning saying they’d have to postpone their dinner plans as Ginny’s morning sickness slowly became morning, noon, and night sickness. Hermione didn’t mind much really. Sandy from the office had lent her a new book she was eager to start. 

She had gotten through the book by later that evening, made a note to herself to return it to Sandy the following Monday, and stepped out to find takeaway in the middle of Diagon Alley. She fell asleep that night in front of the telly, a half uneaten pizza open and cold on the counter. 

Sunday she occupied herself with errands. Diagon Alley was always the busiest on Sundays. True to tradition, both muggle and otherwise, Sundays were a sacred day that most people were granted off of work and school. Especially the weekends leading up to the first day of Hogwarts. 

Hermione smiled as she watched a girl, small for her age, trail the spines of the transfiguration books in the store looking both awed and overwhelmed. She was a muggle-born, Hermione could tell. Not just by her, but by the parents standing behind her. 

By the time magical children are ready to go off to Hogwarts, the wonders of new magic has ceased. It doesn’t matter if you learned to levitate your plate at dinner, it wasn’t amazing when you could turn the bubbles in your bath your favorite color at will. 

For muggleborns, everything was still new. Hermione remembered her first moments in Diagon Alley. She also remembered her parents. 

Magical parents know magic, they trust magic. Muggle parents don’t. They can’t. They’ve seen evil, known evil, without magic. What could stop evil who had magic? Something so powerful, so uncontrollable? 

Hermione’s heart clenched when the mother reached a hand out to gently brush the ends of her daughter’s hair. Not just to let her child know that she’s there, but also to assure herself as well. 

Hermione watched silently as the girl pondered each book carefully before putting it back on the shelf. 

“Are you looking for anything in particular?” 

The girl started at the sound of Hermione’s voice, then quickly looked relieved. “Oh, do you work here?”

Hermione shook her head. “No, but I might as well, I’m here so often.”

“Well, I start Hogwarts next week and I feel like I’m so behind on everything. That boy over there? He turned a book page into a canary that _flew._ I can barely magic my shoes to tie.” she sighed. 

Hermione pulled a book from the third shelf, _Top Twenty-Two Transfiguration Tricks._

“Try this,” Hermione suggested. “It’s a good start to learn the basics. Before you know it, canaries will seem juvenile.”

The girl smiled shyly, tucking the book under her arm, “Thank you, you’re very kind. Were you-- I mean assuming you went to Hogwarts, were you in Hufflepuff?”

“No, Gryffindor, why do you ask?”

“Well,” she gestured to the boy again. “He said when we go to Hogwarts we’ll be sorted into houses. Hufflepuffs are nice and Gryffindors are brave and Ravenclaws are smart and Slytherins are evil and you’ve just been so nice…”

“I was a Gryffindor actually. But sorting is beyond just those traits. Hufflepuffs can also be brave and smart. And Slytherins aren’t evil, some of the greatest wizards in history have been sorted into Slytherin.”

“Really?” the girl asked shyly.

Hermione nodded. “Yes, absolutely. The hat will put you only where it feels you will be most successful, there’s no better or worse--”

_“Eleanor! Bring your books, we must be going!”_

The girl turned to the voice in the distance and smiled back at Hermione from over her shoulder. “That’s my mum, I better go. Thank you again.”

Hermione watched her bound off to find her parents with a small smile on her face before she was startled by a voice close to her ear. 

“Hermione Granger defending Slytherin’s honor? I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Malfoy.” 

His smirk was so casual, so relaxed, she wanted to smack it right off his face. He lent against the bookcase, his arms crossed in front of his chest. 

“Granger.”

“What are you doing here?”

Draco raised an eyebrow in her direction. “In Diagon Alley?”

“In this bookstore. Surely you have better things to do on a Sunday.”

Draco chuckled. “Actually, I’m here on business. A book signing.” 

Sure enough, there was his face. How had she missed it? Plastered on books and posters around the small store.

She felt her stomach clench and her heart leap into her throat. “You have a book. Of course you have a book.” She had always wanted to write a book. “Let me guess, _how to practice Pureblood traditions in a modern wizarding world?”_

What was supposed to be a cheap shot actually made his smirk deepen. He almost looked _amused._ “That’s not a bad idea for the next one. But, no, this is an entrepreneurial guide. How to start your business, balance your finances, to be successful, and the like.”

“You think those things can be taught?” 

He quirked his eyebrow higher on his forehead, “You don’t?”

“I think,” Hermione began slowly, “that you just always seem to know what to do. Not all of us have that sureness. Perhaps it’s a Slytherin trait, but it’s something I envy.”

Draco checked the dialog watch on his wrist. “Well if you stick around perhaps I can prove you wrong.”

He brushed past her in a similar way as just a few days ago in the ministry cafeteria. She watched him take his position in the front of the store, greeting the patrons with handshakes and pats on the shoulder. 

Draco’s eyes flickered to the door at the sound of the bell dinging. She was gone. 

* * *

The first note arrives on Wednesday. It was among her other paperworks for the evening and it wasn’t until past 4 that she noticed it. How long had that been there?

_Stay past 6 tonight. Work diligently. Trust me._

Could this be from Mr. Burk? He had left at noon that day and didn’t even pop in to say goodbye. When would he have time to leave this? 

She glanced at the clock on her wall. It was half four now. Ron wasn’t to be expected home until at least 7 and what harm was it, really, to stay a little late? Perhaps Mr. Burk would be returning late with an important assignment. 

Resigned to stay, Hermione settled in with her papers and a fresh cup of coffee. 

“Late night, Ms. Granger?”

Dennis Creevey’s voice sounded from the door and Hermione couldn’t help but to smile. Only just a few years younger than her, he insisted on addressing her formally. 

“I’ll be fine Dennis, you go on home. I’ll lock up when I’m done.” 

“Well don’t overwork yourself. I’ll see you in the morning!” 

It was half past seven when Hermione really started to become irritated. Ron had already sent an owl stating he was home and inquiring where she was. She had written back that she was asked to stay a little later than usual, but she would be home in time to make dinner reservations. She knew Ron was probably becoming antsy at this point. 

_Five minutes. I’ll give Mr. Burk five more minutes before I leave for the night._

She signed paper after paper, rubber stamping document approvals, filing licenses in her drawer. 

7:35

With a sigh, Hermione began to pack her things, already mentally conjuring up both an apology for Ron and a good tongue lashing for Mr. Burk when she saw him the next day about leaving her waiting. 

“Hermione Granger?”

Hermione gasped as the sudden intrusion of sound, grasping her chest as she felt her heart stutter. She furrowed her brows. “Mrs. Parsons?”

Mrs. Mary Parsons was head of the entire unit of magical regulations in all of the United Kingdom. She was a sweet woman, really. Golden hair and brown eyes and rounded hips from her children who by now must be almost all out of Hogwarts. She was wonderful and fair as a boss, but rarely ever seen, especially by lower employees such as Hermione. 

“I didn’t mean to frighten you dear, I’m terribly sorry. I’ve just come back from Wales and needed to deliver these files to Michael. Is he here with you?”

Hermione licked her top lip, assessing the woman carefully. “Actually,” she began “He left for the day a little while ago.” 

Mary scoffed, tucking the folder under her arm to free her hand and rub the bridge of her nose. “By ‘a little while ago’ I’ll assume you mean before afternoon tea then.”

Hermione was taken aback. “You mean… you know?”

“Know he skips out on work? I had my suspicions. But imagine my surprise a few weeks ago when I’m taking a colleague out for lunch in Paris and I see him there. I almost fired him on the spot.” 

“But you didn’t?”

“I can’t, really. As far as my suspicions go, I have no proof of his absence. If I were to fire him, he could challenge it to the board and use his timely reports as proof,” she gave Hermione a pointed look at her desk. “Which I’m guessing is why you’re here so late in the first place.” 

“I…” 

_Work diligently._

“I _was_ working on some new files, actually. I can take those for you if you’d like and send them back in the morning.”

“Or perhaps,” Mary glanced at the clock on the wall. “I could stay and help you finish up. I’ll call for some tea and scones. You must have missed dinner, surely?” 

Over food and drink the slowly worked their way through each file. Exchanging stories of Hogwarts and the Ministry and various places they’ve traveled to. Hermione recounted the founding of SPEW and her love for magical creatures that led her to the position she was in. Mary spoke of her children, her husband who had been turned by a werewolf after the birth of their first, and how it inspired her to start a new career. 

“I was a lawyer before.”

“No!”

She laughed. “Oh yes. Very straight laced. I studied defense law because I figured I would be helping. Justice for the innocently accused and all that. But it became a job. I had to defend people I knew were guilty for the crimes they were tried for. I had to watch them walk back into society knowing it was my fault.” 

Hermione placed a comforting hand on hers and gave a tight squeeze. “You were just doing what you thought was right.”

“Well,” Mary laughed. “Yes and no. I was doing right by my client and wrong by society.”  
“What made you change?”

“After my Lola was born, I took some time off of work. My husband did, too. Those first few months were absolute bliss. And then one of my former clients was released from Azkaban on a technicality. He didn’t feel I represented him well and… well…” Mary shrugged. 

“I’m so sorry--”

“Don’t! No, no. Not at all,” Mary waved off Hermione’s sympathies with a flick of her hand, carefully sipping her tea. “When he turned my husband I thought life was over. At the time werewolves were still classified as monsters. How was I going to raise a child with a monster? But nothing changed. He was the same man I had married. He loved Lola and he loved me, how could a monster love? So I knew I had to do something about it.”

“What did you do?” Files forgotten, Hermione rested her chin on her palm.

“I applied to work here. That,” Mary pointed to a desk in the far corner. “was my desk. I worked for two years creating my proposal for the Werewolf Reclassification Act. By the time it made it to the board for consideration, I was 8 months pregnant with our second. I was so nervous I almost went into labor there.”

Hermione smiled thoughtfully. “Your family must be so proud.”

Mary rolled her eyes with a laugh. “To my children, I’m just their embarrassing mum. But my husband is proud of me. And he makes sure that I’m proud of myself, too.”

Hermione hummed in agreement. “He sounds like a good man.”

“He is,” Mary smiled and for some reason it made Hermione’s throat close. Even after all these years, the mere mention of her husband caused that smile. Had Hermione ever smiled like that for someone? Had anyone ever smiled like that for her? 

“You would love him, actually. Do you have plans this coming Friday? I’d love to have you over for dinner.”

Hermione blinked owlishly. “You would?”

Mary smiled warmly, beginning to file away the finished documents. “I would. I’d love to talk more about your ideas for house elf protection.” 

At the elevators, after a quick exchange of address and “what can I bring” and “what time is best for you” Mary put out a hand to stop the doors from closing. 

“I see so much of myself in you, Ms. Granger. Someone with so much passion should be running this branch. I look forward to Friday.”

Hermione hadn’t felt this light in years. 

* * *

She didn’t want to know what time it was.

She had purposely ignored the clock on the wall of the office. She ignored how dark it was outside. She ignored the overnight janitorial staff. 

Because she knew she was fucking late. 

The flat was quiet and dark. Three beer bottles and a empty carton of rice on the coffee table. The pillows throw unceremoniously on the floor. 

Hermione quickly removed her makeup, tied up her hair into a loose braid, and slipped from her work clothes. She tried to quietly, carefully move the covers of the bed as to not disturb the figure with his back to her. 

“You’re late.”

Hermione’s heart sank. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“I’m only here for the night.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

Ron sighed. “Was it worth it?”

Yes. It was. For the first time in five years it felt like she was getting somewhere. She felt recognized. She felt hopeful. She felt empowered.  
  
“I think it might have been.”


	3. Angel of Music

_Here in this room, he calls me softly_   
_Somewhere inside, hiding_   
_Somehow I know he's always with me_   
_He, the unseen genius_

* * *

Ron had been gone before she even awoke the next morning. There was a hastily scrawled note about _early practice_ and _be back next week._ But Hermione couldn’t bring herself to care. 

She knew she should feel guilty for not making dinner reservations the previous night. For all his faults, Ron had always kept his promises. If he said he’d be back on Saturday at 3:15, she knew to expect him no later. He was reliable in that way. 

Hermione, not so much. This wouldn’t be the first time the couple fought over Hermione working late or missing events because of her job. It certainly wouldn’t be the last. But she had always been this way, hadn’t she? How many Quidditch games did she miss in Hogwarts in favor of turning in an early assignment? 

It was something that Ron didn’t, couldn’t, and would never understand. He loved his job. He loved traveling and playing and the recognition it brought him beyond being Harry Potter’s friend. But when he came home, he expected Hermione to drop her assignments, to reschedule her meetings, to cancel investor lunches and instead spend what little time he had home attending to him. And when she couldn’t, it was always a fight. 

_“Would you miss our child’s recital or game if your boss asked you to?”_ He would throw in her face. 

And honestly, yes. Which is exactly why she had been putting off marriage and child bearing for the past few years. It was important that she be where she needed to be in her career so that she didn’t _have_ to miss games and recitals. 

It was not without convincing from Ron either. Unlike Hermione, Ron had grown up with many siblings and mother who stayed at home to care for them. To Ron, that was the quintessential family dynamics. Not to say women who _did_ choose that path was wrong, as Ginny found her happiness in being a homemaker as well, but it just wasn’t Hermione’s path. And why couldn’t Ron accept that? 

She wanted a family. Just not yet. Not until she wasn’t so… stuck. 

Hermione rubbed a hand over her face and sighed. 

“Alright, Miss. Granger?” 

Hermione blinked away the spots in her eyes from the excessive rubbing. “Hello, Dennis. I’m okay, just a long night.” 

Dennis nodded and deposited a stack of envelopes on her desk. “Scotty, he’s my friend in maintenance, said he didn’t see you leave until past 12. What had you so late?”

Hermione licked her lips, shuffling the new documents off to the side. “Just a lot of work that needed to be done before the quarter is up.”

Dennis gave her a soft smile. “Okay. Jus’ wanted to make sure you’re not overworking yourself… again.”

Dennis moved to turn away and finish his rounds of delivering mail when Hermione stopped him. 

“Dennis,” he turned to face her again. “Sorry, I was just… did anyone give you a note yesterday for me?”

Dennis blinked and ran a hand through his hair in thought. “Not that I recall. Why, are you missing something?”

Hermione furrowed her brow and bit the side of her lip. “No, I… thanks anyway, Dennis.”

 _How odd,_ Hermione thought. 

If Dennis hadn’t left the note with the morning mail, that would mean someone would have to deliver it themselves. Perhaps it _was_ Mr.Burk and Hermione’s first instincts were correct. She glanced at the clock and sighed. It was already past 10 and there was no sign of Burk. 

Resigned to wait until he showed up, whenever that would be, Hermione tucked into her work. 

* * *

“Mr.Burk!”

It was almost 1o’clock by the time the man came scrolling into the office, a tea in one hand and a briefcase in the other, not that Hermione believed there was anything in it. 

Michael Burk was an older gentleman with a large nose and a forehead to match. At some point when your hair begins to recede, Hermione believes it would be better to just shave it. But Burk was hanging onto his hairline as if his life depended on it. He was unmarried, unmotivated, and still had everything Hermione wanted in her career. 

The man turned on his heels in the doorway at the sound of her voice. He was the only one of them with a separate room that looked out into the bullpen and Hermione envied the closed door and quiet space. 

Hermione quickly moved from her desk to stand in front of him.

“Granger, to what do I owe the pleasure?” 

Hermione laughed. It was the sort of breathy laugh you give your boss that sounds like you’re winded but you were really just uneasy. “Actually, I was just wondering--”

“Did you get those files for the Jorges case done?” Mr.Burk interrupted her. He wasn’t even pretending to pay attention anymore. He stared down with furrowed (bushy, misshapen) brows at the open manila envelope in his hand. 

Hermione bit and ground her tongue between her teeth. “Um, yes, but that’s actually not why--”

“I don’t see it here. Are you sure you’ve finished it?”

“I-- _yes_ I’ve finished it, I just--” Hermione gripped the note tight in her hands until the knuckles were white. 

“Well I need it by tomorrow’s board meeting. Heming Brewster has been on my arse for weeks about it.”

Deep breaths. In through your nose. Let your belly push out. Slow exhale. 

“Of course, Mr. Burk. I’ll track it down for you. But I was _actually_ wondering if you left this note on my desk yesterday.”

Hermione shook the parchment slightly and Burk finally turned his gaze up as if noticing she was standing there for the first time. “A note? Lemme see it.”  
“I--” Before Hermione could finish the paper was snatched out of her hands. 

“Mm,” Burk hummed, “Not me. You didn’t actually stay past 6 did you?”

Hermione felt her cheeks heat. “Well--”

He chuckled, a pleased and almost smug sound. “Oh-ho. This seems to be either from an admirer or a prankster. Granger, you’re not having an affair without me, are you?”

Hermione winced. That was another thing about Michael Burk. His jokes. His _women in the kitchen, have your tits gotten bigger, could you bend down and get that for me_ jokes. 

When Hermione was a teenager, her father told her that when a man made a crude joke to pretend not to understand it. To make them explain why it’s funny. To make them as flustered and embarrassed as they tried to make you. 

But now, Hermione could only withdraw into herself. There were a million retorts that she would think of later in the shower and over her dinner and laying in bed that night. _Your wife had an affair without you too,_ she would imagine herself saying. His face would get even more swollen and red than it already was. She would scold herself for not taking the initiative and promise herself to stand up to him next time. And then she would fall through. 

Hermione Granger could stand up to Snape, could stand up to Umbridge, could stand up to Voldemort himself, but they didn’t mention her slightly tighter shirt, did they? 

“Kidding, of course,” Mr.Burk assured after Hermione’s stumbled pause. “Must have just been a prank. Oh, Merlin. I can’t believe you _stayed._ Not the bright witch everyone says, aye?”

The note was returned to her outstretched hand and Burk closed the office door behind him, throwing “don’t forget about the Jorges files” over his shoulder before the latch clicked shut.

Hermione stood unblinkingly at the closed door for what felt like hours. With a sigh she finally turned to retreat back to her desk, her tail between her legs. Then, she stopped short. 

A white box sat perfectly centered on her desk. One that hadn’t been there when she stepped away just moments ago. 

“Elizabeth?” 

A small, mousey girl peered up from her desk to Hermione’s right. “Yes?”

“Did you see someone deliver this package?”

The girl bit her bottom lip in thought. “No… How odd. It wasn’t there just a moment ago, I’m sure.”

“Huh.”

“Should I call the Aurors to check it? I can get Harry up here, just to make sure.”  
“No, no,” Hermione reassured quickly. “I’m sure it’s fine. I just… wasn’t sure if you happened to catch the messenger.”

Elizabeth shrugged one shoulder. “Sorry, Hermione.” 

“That’s alright,” she muttered, but Elizabeth was already buried in her work again.

In fact, everyone seemed to have their nose turned down to their desk, no doubt working on Mr.Burk’s deadlines for tomorrow’s meeting. Hermione doubted anyone would have been spotted if they were delivering the box unless they made a scene of themselves. 

Carefully running her hands around the edges of the box, Hermione lifted the corner of the top to peek inside. She was greeted by the sight of purple silk. Excitedly lifting the remainder of the top, Hermione’s heart raced at the sight of another note with the elegant writing. 

_Wear this to dinner on Friday. It’s ghastly, but it’s a lucky dress._

* * *

Ghastly it was. Beyond the beautiful purple silk was a large bow on the breast and two puffy sleeves that defied gravity. 

Hermione debated even wearing the dress. Perhaps Mr. Burk was correct and this _was_ just an elaborate prank. But on the other hand, what were the odds that the so-called prank note led to this dinner? 

The dress was laid out on the bed while Hermione stared down at it, clad in only her knickers and bra. She tapped a finger against her lips as she assessed the article in front of her. 

There was a perfectly acceptable, professional black dress hanging in the closet next to her winter coat. It would be the safe option. 

_But,_ Hermione glanced at the clock on her bedside. _I’m trying not to be safe for a change._

She quickly threw on the dress, added some simple jewelry, and posed in the mirror against the wall. Perhaps it wasn’t _too_ bad. It definitely was in fashion some 20 years ago, and that has to count for some taste right?

Hermione swiftly removed the cheesecake that was setting in the fridge and situated herself in the fireplace. Stomach fluttering, she fisted a handful of green powder before throwing it at her feet. 

“Parsons’ Scotland residence.”

She was deposited in a large, but homey receiving area. For a moment, dread settled in her stomach when she realized she was alone in the room and no one had come to collect her. Had she come too early? She had the address right, right? She _did_ say Friday, didn’t she?

“Hermione, is that you?”

She breathed a sigh of relief before calling out, “Hi, Mary. Yes it’s me.”

“I’m in the kitchen! Right through this way.”

The narrow hallway leading from the floo to the kitchen was lined with pictures. Babies, old portraits, family photos, even framed artwork that was definitely from a century ago or more. Hermione paused at the image of a small girl and boy holding each other, locked in a grinning embrace. They looked almost like carbon copies of their mother with straight blonde hair and round cheeks, but they both had kind, blue eyes instead of what Hermione knew Mary’s eyes to be a vibrant green.

Growing up, Hermione always wanted siblings. She had begged and pleaded with her parents for years, until her parents were too grey around the ears, to have a brother or sister. She craved the closeness, the special relationship of offsprings from the same people. 

She told herself that she would at least have two. She often thought of an image quite like the one hanging on the wall. Instead, red hair curly hair and brown eyes. She shook her head of the thought and moved past into the kitchen area, ignoring the nagging feeling at the bottom of her stomach that told her that image felt wrong. 

Mary was wiping her hands on a dish rag, cleaning away the ingredients from cooking what looked like a lovely pasta dish. She didn’t even look up when Hermione entered, too focused on plating each serving. 

“Hermione we’re so glad you could-- oh my!” Mary gasped, her eyes practically popping out of her head at the site of Hermione’s attire. The dishrag lay forgotten on the counter as Mary quickly met Hermione at the doorway, practically cooing at the dress. 

“Oh, _Hermione,_ this is _gorgeous._ Where did you get this?”

Hermione blinked once. Twice. 

“It was a gift, actually.”

“Well,” Mary said. “You must put me in contact with them. Merlin, that _dress!_ Oh it looks just like-- John! John, come here.”

Hermione was greeted by the sight of a rather tall, lanky man with brown hair and familiar blue eyes. He stuck his hand out to Hermione, a gentle and warm smile on his lips that only a father could manage. 

“Hermione, yes? Welcome. We’re so excited to have you tonight.”

Hermione opened her mouth to politely respond when Mary pressed on. 

“John doesn’t this dress look _exactly_ like my yule ball dress?” Mary gushed, fluffing the shoulders of the dress. 

John hummed, analyzing the dress. “It really does.”

Mary clasped Hermione’s hands in hers excitedly. “Would you like to see photos? We have almost a whole scrapbook of photos from that night.”  
“Mary’s first magical camera came just the week before the dance. Practically documented the whole thing.”

John’s voice was teasing and almost admiring to his wife, who scoffed and swatted him on the shoulder playfully. She tried to imagine a life like this, a relationship like this. Even after all these years. Loving each other, being playful, being there. 

Hermione wondered if she was destined to have a life of a wife with an absent husband. Would Ron quit his touring when they married? Would he when they had children? Would he be home to help? Would Hermione even want him there? No, probably not. 

“I would love to.” 

* * *

Dinner, which had been planned to be served in the dining room, was quickly moved into a small sitting area. Hermione was surprised by the small telly she noticed against a far wall and when she vocalized such, John explained that he was raised by a single muggle mother. He said as his children grew older, he wanted them to also experience the “muggle magic” as he called it as well. 

He and Hermione bonded over their shared experiences in the muggle world while Mary rummaged through a bin of old letters, photographs, and books. She finally made a loud noise of success and settled herself in the seat beside Hermione and offered a large, old scrapbook.

John was right. Hermione could practically piece together the entire night from Mary’s collection of photos. There was a snapshot of her getting ready, applying a bright pink gloss to her lips as her friend captured the moment. There was an image of Mary and John together, looking young and nervous in their robes outside of the Great Hall. An image of them dancing, John sweeping her off of the ground with a silent laugh. 

Hermione shared her own Yule Ball experience, ixnay on the ending of the night that ended in tears because of Ron. The conversation causally drifted over wine and pasta until it finally ventured into the topic of creatures close to Hermione: Dobby, Buckbeak, Lupin, Firenze, that led her to join the DRCMC. 

Perhaps it was the wine but she spoke passionately, openly, honestly to Mary and John about her hopes for the future of the department and the steps she hoped to take to make it happen. 

John has hummed in agreement. “We share the same hopes. It’s unfortunate your department is run by _who_ it’s run by. Luckily for you with the amount of dairy and wine I’ve seen that man consume, you’ll outlive him to take over the department.” 

“Oh, John, shut it.”

Mary swatted her husband's shoulder, but gave Hermione a knowing, twinkling look. _I can’t say it, but I agree._ Hermione wondered just _how much_ dairy and wine one man _could_ consume. 

When it was time to leave, she was surprised to be pulled into a hug by both Mary and John in a farewell with promises to plan another gathering. 

Hermione couldn’t believe how… _well_ it went. Hermione had never been good at schmoozing. She was direct, practical, even brutal in her honesty. She didn’t have the suaveness or charm that someone like, say, Draco Malfoy had. He could convince you he had a stone in his hand even if you saw his palms empty. 

But as soon as Mary and John saw the dress, it was like an immediate open door. An open door of purple silk and huge bows. It felt good. 

It was a lucky dress.


	4. The Mirror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the long wait on this chapter! I got terribly, terribly sick and couldn't bring myself to write and edit. I hope you enjoy!

_Flattering child, you shall know me  
See why in shadow I hide  
Look at your face in the mirror  
I am there inside_

* * *

On Monday, there were two things out of place on Hermione’s desk. 

The first was a note with Ron’s familiar scrawl. _Bulgaria is beautiful,_ the note said, _one more game left tomorrow and we’ll be home Wednesday. I have something special for you._ Hermione had rolled her eyes and let the note fall crumpled into the rubbish bin. Shakespeare said brevity is the soul of wit, but Ron’s short-handed notes left much to be desired. 

The second was that morning’s addition to the Quibbler. Which wouldn’t have been so odd if Hermione wasn’t already subscribed to the magazine and had it delivered via post to her flat every morning. The thing was, Hermione never read the Quibbler. Instead she kept her 4 galleon a month subscription in support of an old friend, Luna, who had taken over for her father after his passing just a year before. 

She had little desire to read about the likes of Moon Frogs, Blibbering Humdingers, Heliopaths, Umgubular Slashkilters, Nargles, Aquavirius Maggots, Wrackspurts, Gulping Plimpies, and Dabberblimps. All of which only existed in the recesses of Luna’s mind. And so they sat on an empty side table to be used as kindling for the fire. Except for this one. 

Hermione ran a thumb over the edge of the magazine. The text was characteristically upside down: CRUMPLE-HORNED SNORKACK SIGHTING! With a blinking image of what looked like a large shadow of a tree captured quickly under it. Hermione rolled her eyes and grabbed the article off her desk to join the note in the bin when a piece of loose paper fell onto her lap from the flap of the pages. 

Her heart leapt. 

_Page 13. Article in the top left corner. You’ll know what to do._

She quickly riffled through the pages, sucking her lip between her teeth as she scanned each individual article on page 13. It reminded her of a muggle rag-mag in the way that several short stories with no affiliation cluttered the page. Top left corner. 

_The_ _Department_ _for the Regulation and Control of_ _Magical Creatures Announces End to Mandated Wolfsbane Coverage for Werewolves_

_Department heads announced today that apothecaries can deny wolfsbane to any registered were-persons without means to pay. This is a reversal of the 1994 bill that required all apothecaries to supply wolfsbane potion for free the week leading up to the full moon._

_“We no longer have the funds to sponsor potion shops to acquire aconite, or bane, that these shops need,” a source comments._

_Aconite, a rare and deadly flower, is the main ingredient used to make wolfsbane potion. Until now, the DRCMC allocated funds to privately owned apothecaries for ingredient extraction and income supplementation for the week of free potions. What does this mean for our werewolf friends?_

Hermione slumped in her chair, the open magazine falling into her lap. She ran a shaking hand over her mouth. Merlin. She had no clue. How did she have no clue? 

Thousands upon thousands of people relied on the free supply of wolfsbane each month. During Greyback’s reign of terror he had turned hundreds of men, women, and children who, without this law, would have no access to the suppressant potion they required. 

And the worst part was, she _didn’t_ know what to do. 

She thought of Bill. He hadn’t been turned all the way, but still relied on the free supply to quell his sudden violent bursts and craving for raw meat. He wouldn’t be able to afford every month from his salary as a contracted curse breaker. 

She thought of Henry. An orphaned boy she had met her first week in the department. Greyback had not only taken his parents from him, but his childhood and innocence as apparent from the huge chunk gashed from his shoulder. Who would help him each month? 

She thought of John. _Oh Merlin. Mary. Does she even know?_

Hermione quickly tore out the corner article and penned a quick note. 

_Mrs. Parsons,_

_Have you seen this?_

She stood to make her way to the owlery when Dennis blocked her path. 

“Miss. Granger, you have a floo call in conference room 1.”

Hermione furrowed her brow. She hadn’t scheduled any meetings over floo. When she voiced such, Dennis threw a nervous look over his shoulder and whispered close to her ear, as if nervous the person in the floo three doors down would hear him. 

“It’s Parsons. Is everything alright?”

Hermione’s bottom lip dropped in a tight ‘o’ in understanding. She gave what she hoped was a reassuring smile to Dennis. “Yes, everything’s alright Dennis. Room 1 you said?”

Mary’s familiar face was shadowed in the green flame of the fireplace. Even then, Hermione could see how tired she looked. The dark flames licked under her sunken eyes making her appear drained and sad. She knew. 

“Mrs. Parsons.” Hermione licked her suddenly dry lips.  
“Hermione,” she seemed to be searching her face for something. “You know I take it?”

“I do. I saw an article in the Quibbler just now. I was actually on my way to send you an owl. How could this happen? I had no idea. There was absolutely nothing about it in the Prophet.”

Mary scoffed in a very unprofessional way, “Of course not. The board wouldn’t want bad press as big as the Prophet. I’m surprised the Quibbler even knew. The only people, from what I can tell, who knows are the board members and the apothecary union. Someone must have tipped them off.”

Mary sighed then, a few embers flickering from her flamed mouth. “The truth is, I knew this would happen eventually. The apothecaries lose money each month because of how expensive it is to send people to extract bane. They’ve been asking the department for more money for over a year now and, honestly, I don’t think the board cares enough to even try and fundraise or push for support. They’d rather pocket the extra sponsor money.”

 _You’ll know what to do._  
“What if…” Hermione trailed off, licking her lips once more. Mary’s eyes, a bright green, burned in the intensity of the flames. “What if someone else fundraised the money? I could--”

“Hermione,” Mary pressed gently, “You know how much I love your drive, but I’m afraid this is a wasted cause. That’s _millions_ of galleons you’d have to acquire _before_ you even bring it to the board. It’d have to be an entirely new bill. Even so, with all the other projects you have… I mean, realistically Hermione…”

_You’ll know what to do._

Bill, Henry, John.

“I could stay late,” Hermione interrupted, her voice as sure as she could make it. “I mean, I _will_ stay late. Every night if I have to. I’ll do my work during office hours and work on this on my own time. I can-- I can find outside sponsors. I’ll draft a new bill. And I’ll do it all on my own time.”

She seemed to ponder it for a moment. In the fire, it almost looked as if she was staring at nothing. Hermione waited, her breath caught in her throat. 

Mary finally spoke. “Are… are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

And for the first time, she really did. 

* * *

Monday night Hermione stayed until almost 9. The janitorial staff swept and mopped around her as she worked. She wrote out a list of all the apothecary owners in the UK. 

_Draco Malfoy_

_Colton Fields_

_Jackie Poole_

_Theodore Nott_

_Elgin Browne_

_Amory Frost_

Malfoy owned the most shops across the country, Nott had the biggest potion supply connections. Frost owned just one shop in diagon alley that was kept afloat by older, loyal patrons who knew her father. Hermione crossed her off the list. Poole was an outspoken opponent to the first bill. Hermione crossed her off the list. Fields was a good contender as his apothecary numbers rivaled Malfoy’s, but most of them were based offshore. Hermione didn’t know much about Browne, so she left a question mark next to the name. 

It wasn’t much, but it was a start. 

Tuesday Hermione fell asleep at her desk. She had spent the entire night agonizing over income reports and inventory logs and license requests. Highlighting and annotating and reorganizing. Her eyes fell heavy around 3 in the morning and the next thing she knew, Dennis was gently shaking her awake and urging her to go home and shower before returning to work. 

She almost forgot that Ron was due home that night until Dennis handed her a note upon her return. Ron had made reservations at La Piazza and _please, please, please Hermione don’t be late this time._ Which, of course, she was. But only by 15 minutes. 

He didn’t seem to mind, which should have been her first clue something was amiss. Instead he pulled her into a hug with her face pressed against his broad shoulder. It felt good, it felt familiar. But it didn’t feel _right._

“‘Mione, hi.” he spoke into her hair, planting a brief kiss to her temple before pulling away. 

“How was Bulgaria?”

He pulled out her chair for her. Fumbling and awkward and knocking the wooden legs into her foot. He had never done that before. 

“It was great,” he took the seat in front of her, folding a napkin over his lip. “We won, which means we’ll be going to France for the championship.”

Hermione’s smile was genuine. “That’s great, Ron. I’m so happy for you.”

“Yeah, me too.” He was licking his lips obsessively, pushing his hair back from his forehead and then pulling it back over to smooth it out under his palm. 

Hermione furrowed her brow and opened her mouth to ask what was the matter when their waiter stepped in, reaching over Hermione’s face to pour water into the glass. “Good evening, may I offer you anything to drink?”

Hermione again went to speak when she was interrupted by the man in front of her. “We’ll have the Domaine du Comte, please. The bottle.”

Hermione arched her brow in confusion. Not only was that the single most expensive wine that the restaurant supplied, but she also _hated_ pinot noir. Didn’t he know that? But he winked at her as the waiter moved away. 

“What’s that about?” Hermione whispered across the table. Ron grasped her hand in his and smiled. 

“We’re celebrating tonight.”

Hermione blinked, but said nothing. 

“Tell me, ‘Mione, how’s work been?”

She perked up. “Great, actually. I’ve started a new project that will hopefully give me a push for a promotion. I’m working closely with--”  
“That’s amazing,” Ron cut in, as if he wasn’t listening in the first place. Hermione frowned. “That you’re doing so good, I mean. I know you’ve been pushing for years for a better position.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You know, we’re in a pretty good place now.” 

The waiter returned, a chilled bottle floating behind him as he carried two crystal wine glasses in his hand. They were silent as the man made a show of opening and then pouring out the contents for them. 

“How so?” Hermione asked when the waiter finally settled the bottle on the table for them and left once more. 

“How so what?” Ron asked. 

“How so are we in a good place?”

Ron itched a spot over his chin. “Well, after this championship I’m hoping to get a new contact for more money; given we win. And you’re doing so well with your job. And, you know, once the season is over I’ll be home for months until next season.”

Hermione nervously took a sip from her glass, holding back a recoil at the strong, bitter taste. “I suppose so.”

Ron chuckled. “Yeah. What I mean is… I, well…”

The wine settled heavily in Hermione’s stomach. She knew that look. That nervous, glimiring, stuttered look. When he had asked to take her on a date. When he had asked to be exclusive. When he asked to move in together. 

“Ron…”

“We’re in a good place,” Ron reiterated. “So, I was wondering…”

He began fumbling in the pocket of his coat hanging on the back of his chair, twisting his body around to rummage through. 

“Ron…”

“Wait, I just have to--”

She wanted to cry. Maybe laugh. 

“Ron, stop. Please.”

“Hold on, it’s just--”

Hermione slapped her hand on the table, rattling the silverware and alerting nearby patrons of their presence. 

“Ron, _no._ Stop. _Please.”_

He paused then. Carefully removing his hand from his pockets and untwisting his body to fold them on the table in front of him. 

“You don’t even know--”

“I know what you’re going to ask,” Hermione quickly interrupted. “And I’m just… I’m not ready yet. Please.”

While he was still just her boyfriend she could ignore it all. She could ignore the lonely nights and the feelings of dread and the hugs that felt _friendly._ She couldn’t ignore it if he was her husband. She couldn’t ignore it if they had children. 

Ron’s mouth twisted and he flexed his fingers in his grip. “Hermione, you’ll never be ready.”

“Excuse me?” She huffed, a little more loudly than was probably polite in such a classy restaurant with such an expensive bottle of wine sitting in front of her.

“You’ll always find an excuse not to. You’ll never be far enough in your career to feel _ready._ You’ll always want more.”

“That’s not true,” she hissed at him. “We’re _24,_ Ron. My parents didn’t get engaged until they were 30.”

“Harry and Ginny have been--”

“Well, we’re _not_ Harry and Ginny, are we?”

People were staring now. The music in the background was still playing, but Hermione could hear the hushed whispers over it. Her cheeks burned, she knew they did. 

“But--”

“You have to stop comparing everything to Harry and Ginny. Harry and Ginny started dating so we did. Harry and Ginny moved in together so we did. I’m not like Ginny and I’m not like your mum--”

“ _Well maybe you should be!”_

The whispers stopped. Everyone sat, silent, with opened mouths gaping at them. The other Golden Couple. 

“How _dare_ you.” 

Her knees trembled as she shook from the anger that was bubbling. Starting from the floor and crawling through her body like a disease. 

“Hermione--”

But she didn’t hear what else he had to say. She didn’t care to. She apparated away. 

* * *

She went back to work. It was the only space that was hers. Ron wasn’t authorized into the office after-hours and he had almost definitely scrambled back to their flat to try and find her. 

She worked for hours. She didn’t stop until there was an indentation of her quill in her thumb and her head pulsed from the over-stimulation. She used two fingers to rub away the tension in her temples, pressing her eyes closed and groaning softly. 

It was nearly 2 in the morning when the flicker of a patronus bounded through the closed office window. It was Harry’s stag. 

“ _Hermione,”_ the apparition said in Harry’s voice. “ _Ginny and I have taken Ron to St. Mungos. He took a pretty nasty fall, thinking he broke his leg. Please meet us here.”_

She took the office floo directly into the waiting room of the hospital. The room was a sea of lime green robes and patients with various physical ailments. Hermione grimaced at the sight of a young girl’s boiled face. 

“Would you be able to tell me where Ronald Weasley is being treated?” 

The reception witch pointed her down a hallway and Hermione spotted the shock of long red hair leaning against a door. 

“Hermione,” Ginny pulled her into a hug. Her small, protruding stomach bumping against hers. 

“Hey, Ginny. Hi, baby Potter,” Hermione cooed, placing her hand on the belly. “Is Harry in there?”

“We didn’t want to leave until you got here.”

Hermione nodded, giving Ginny’s tummy another gentle rub before entering the room and shutting the door gently behind her. 

“Hey.” 

“Hey, Harry.”

Ron didn’t even attempt to meet her eye and Hermione sighed. “You’re relieved of your duties, Harry. I’ll get him home from here.”

Harry pulled her into an embrace and whispered in her ear, “Ron told me what happened at the restaurant. Are you okay?”

Hermione offered a thin smile and nodded, letting Harry go and turning to Ron without another word. When she heard the door click shut from Harry’s descent, she sighed, pressing her fingers onto the bridge of her nose. 

“What _happened?”_

Ron snorted. “I broke my leg, _obviously.”_

“ _Obviously,”_ Hermione snapped. “I meant how.” 

Ron fiddled with the hospital blanket hanging over his lap. 

“There are 13 steps leading up to our flat.”

Hermione furrowed her brows and shook her head. “Okay?”

“I count them every time I walk. And I _always_ skip the last step. Because 13 is an unlucky number, you know?”

“Sure…”

“Well, I get home and you’re not there. So I think maybe you go to the bookstore down the road like you do when you’re angry with me. And I’m going down the steps and I hop to skip the last one. But there isn’t _one.”_

“Ron,” she shook her head, “I don’t understand.”

“There were _14_ steps, Hermione. Not 13. And so I fell and landed wrong and I shattered my fibula.” 

They stood silent for a moment, blinking at each other until Ron spoke. “Well?”

“I don’t know what to say. Maybe you miscounted.”

“I didn’t _miscount,”_ Ron snapped. “I counted them over and over and over while I laid there waiting for Harry to get my patronus. 14. _14.”_

“I believe you--”

“And _now,_ they don’t even know if I’ll be able to play in the championship next week.” Ron laughed incredulously. “It’s unbelievable. I was supposed to go to France with a _fiancee_ and come home a _champion_ and now I’ll have neither.”

His face relaxed then. Instead it fell sad and somber and almost defeated. 

“I’m sorry,” Hermione whispered. 

Ron nodded. “I am, too.”

She carefully walked over, sitting on the side of his bed and holding his hand in her palm, stroking his fingers. “I do love you.”

“Me too,” Ron responded sadly. “But that’s not enough, is it?”

She didn’t answer, she didn’t have to. 

* * *

She brought Ron to the Burrow that night. For as incompatible as they were, the breakup hurt. They loved each other. They fought a war together. They were Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron. She was strong-willed and hard-working and passionate. He was empathetic and outgoing and laid-back. They were perfect, but not for each other. 

She parted with hugs and promises to stay close and tearful confessions about how they knew, deep down, it would have ended at some point. 

Hermione was home just as the sun rose. Her living-room window faced the east and so a brilliant orange glow lit the room in the sunrise. It felt cleansing. 

She sat with her legs tucked under her, a steaming mug in hand as she gazed down at the coffee table in front of her. Three notes lay open and parallel to each other. All with the same distinctive scrawl. 

The bars the crossed the t’s were heavily slanted downwards. They were authoritative. Wide left margins, large script, oversized capitals, ink filled loops in the o’s. Prideful. Independent. Confident. 

From the hard press of the lines and the right slant of the text, she could tell they were a male. 

She imagined large, sure hands dipping its quill into the ink pot. Carefully, surely writing every word on the parchment. 

He probably only wrote one copy. 

Unlike Hermione who would draft, then re-draft, then finalize her notes. He knew what he was doing. He was telling her what to do. He was helping her. 

Heavy, pointed dotted i’s. Aggressive. Protective. 

Hermione’s eyes flickered to the door of her flat. One with exactly 13 stairs leading up to it. She checked.


	5. The Phantom of the Opera

_Leave all thoughts of the world you knew before  
Close your eyes and let music set you free  
Only then can you belong to me_

* * *

_Browne’s Corner Shoppe_ was a tall, thin building that, if you weren’t looking for it, was easily missed. There were no windows looking into the store and only a faint, hanging wood sign that pointed down to an old door to announce its presence. 

The inside was a dimly lit yellow hew that only accented how old the business actually was. Elgin Browne was the oldest apothecary owner in Great Britain and it showed with the creases on the checkout counter and the lines under his eyes behind said counter. 

“Hullo,” a voice called from a back room, “Be with ya in a moment.”

Hermione waited patiently, casually perusing the potion bottles and bagged snacks that was offered on a nearby table. 

When Elgin came out, he was wiping his hands on an already stained rag. A quick sniff and Hermione knew he must be brewing a batch of pepper-up potion by the intense spearmint fumes wafting from the now open room.

“Hello, Mr. Browne.” Hermione said, sticking out her right hand straight. She awkwardly dropped it to her side when Elgin didn’t reach to meet her shake. 

“Sorry, do I know you?”

“Yes-- Well,” Hermione explained, “no. My name is Hermione Granger. I work for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and I--”

Elgin laughed, dropping himself into a seat behind the counter and folding his arms over his chest. 

“Yeah, of course. I figured one of you would be comin’ ‘round here at some point.”

“Pardon?”

“You’re here about the wolfsbane bill abolishment, right? Listen ma’am, you’re barking up the wrong tree. I had nothin’ ta’do with it.”

Hermione’s mouth twisted to the side. “I don’t understand. You didn’t support the bill being abolished?”

Elgin shrugged, tucking his hands under his armpits. Even sitting down you could tell he was a tall, burly man. “I didn’t _not_ support it. I can’t lie and say I’m not happy I won’t be losin’ money each month from free potions. But like I said, I had nothin’ ta’do with it. Poole spearheaded the whole thing. Brought it to your board, didn’t ask any of us for a vote or anythin’.”

“I actually just came to talk to you--”

“No, you didn’t.” 

Hermione blinked, almost recoiling back in shock. “I didn’t?”

“I’m almost 100 years old, ma’am. I know when someone wants something from me like I know what a sunset looks like. So,” he opened his arms in an opening manner, “why are you really here?”

This was something Hermione hadn’t experienced before. Most people wanted to be smoozed first. Dinner or drinks or a donation or a laugh at a joke that was not funny. That was what He was teaching her to do now with nice dresses and talking points and openings to charm your way in. 

But directness? Hermione could do direct, without a note. 

“Alright, sure,” Hermione mimicked his stance, tucking her arms into her elbows in front of her chest. “I don’t think it was fair for the board to take away such a huge legislative piece, especially without even attempting to involve anyone from the DRCMC or the werewolf community. It left a lot of people vulnerable. I’m going to create a new bill to take in front of the board and I want your support. More than that, I want your input-- your information. Why pushed for this and why?”

Browne pursed his lips in thought. He was silent for a moment before turning and walking back to the door he had just come though. 

Hermione huffed. “Excuse me--”

“Let me show you something,” Browne interrupted, opening the door wider to let her through. 

Hermione paused, but cautiously moved past him, keeping her want gripped tightly in her wrist holster. 

The room was small and almost every inch of wall space was filled with ingredients. There were three cauldrons of various sizes bubbling and bursting. Hermione watched silently as he rummaged through various vials and bottles on the shelf before offering her a small glass container with small, purple flowers. 

“This is aconite. I’m sure you know it’s the main ingredient in Wolfsbane. Well, this little bottle? This cost me 2,000 galleons. You pay for ya license to extract it, because it’s in protected territory, then you pay someone to go collect it for you. It’s rare and it’s deadly, you need a professional to get it.” He took the container from her hand and settled it gently back on the shelf. “So I pay something to get it for me. And it’s an expensive service. The stipend the ministry gave us? It doesn’t cover it all. Most of us can’t afford to just give away Wolfsbane anymore.” 

Hermione frowned. “People are more important than profit.”

“Perhaps. But my business is what feeds my family. It’s what puts my son through school. And don’t we matter?” Elgin sighed. “Look, if you can guarantee that the ministry funds will cover the costs for lost profits, _all_ of it, I’ll support it. But that’s as much support as I can offer. If you’re looking for monetary support for this bill, I’m not your man.”

“I wasn’t--”

“Of course you were,” Elgin laughed, “Information is great, but you must know this bill will go nowhere without the money. Just not _my_ money.”

Hermione nodded, trying not to let the feeling of disappointment be evident on her face. She showed herself out, opening the front door to step back out on the busy street.

“You know,” Elgin’s voice sounded behind her and she turned, “If you’re lookin’ for apothecary money, Malfoy and Nott are your best bet. They have more galleons than they know what ta’do with and they were big supporters of the wolfbane bill.”

“Really?” Hermione asked, disbelief dripping in her tone.” 

“Well, Malfoy was. He extracts aconite himself so it’s no biggie for him. I think Nott just didn’t care as long as galleons were still showing up in his vault.” 

* * *

Asking Malfoy for help was out of the question. She could only imagine his smug face if _she,_ Hermione Golden Girl Granger, was asking _him_ for anything resembling help. It would mean he had something she didn’t. And she could see it now, his smug face tilting up to one side. 

He would, for a moment, pretend to ponder her request. He would probably stay silent and watch as she squirmed in her chair. Maybe he would make her beg. Maybe he would just say no, because he finally had something over her. 

No, he was out of the question. 

“Hermione Granger, be still my heart. What brings you here?” 

Unlike Elgin Browne, Theodore Nott would not be found in one of his apothecaries. Hermione didn’t even think she remembered seeing him brew even one successful potion in their time at Hogwarts. But what did that matter when his deceased father’s money could buy the best potions masters in the Atlantic ocean?

Instead, he could be found in various wealthy wizarding establishments, such as this private Quidditch pitch that, for being the middle of a workday, was quite busy. Nott’s secretary had informed Hermione that he was scheduled for a meeting with a colleague here, but Hermione saw no desks or board rooms or spare quills to be seen. 

She found him lounging in the sun, a white collared shirt and dark blue slacks with his head tilted to the rays and a condensating glass of what was most definitely a cocktail ( _in the middle of the day?)_ in his hand. 

When she stepped into his space, she effectively blocked the sun from his face and she watched his eyes flicker open in annoyance before settling on her and opening wide in shock. 

“Hi, Nott--”

“Theo, darling, please. We’re not in Hogwarts anymore,” he waved a hand to gesture to the empty sitting space next to him. “Join me. I’m just waiting for a friend to get off from work.”

He was handsome, if you liked that sort of thing. In school he was always too short, too bulky, his teeth too prominent. And perhaps he was still all those things, but his confidence made you feel like you _should_ be finding him attractive and what was wrong with you if you didn’t? 

She politely sat a good distance from him without trying to seem like she was avoiding him. “Would you like a drink?” 

“Oh, um, no thank you. I was just… in the area and saw you sitting and thought I’d come say hello.”

Okay, it wasn’t the best excuse. He would no doubt find out from his secretary later that Hermione Granger had more than threatened her for her boss’s location, but Theo didn’t seem to think her explanation was odd. Even though they had probably spoken all of three words to each other in Hogwarts, one of which was more than likely “mudblood”.

In fact, he didn’t seem to be paying attention at all. 

He was nodding along to what she was saying, but Hermione followed the line of his eyes, she would see the way they fixated on the way her button up pulled over her breasts and how her knees knocked together when she crossed her ankles. 

Hermione folder her hands in her lap in front of her, curling slightly forward some to release the tension of her shirt across her chest and Theo’s eyes snapped up to meet hers with a smile, as if he had done nothing wrong.

“So what have you been up to since graduation?”

This was good. This was an opening, wasn’t it? This is what _He_ was teaching her to look for. Crawl spaces in conversations.

“Well, I work for the ministry now,” Hermione said as casually as possible. “The DRCMC. You remember S.P.E.W from school, don’t you?” 

For a moment, she almost thinks she’s blown it. When Elgin heard where she worked, he knew her intentions immediately. And when Theo narrows his eyes, she thinks it’s over. But then his expression blows wide open in a grin.   
“ _Yes,_ of course! Can’t forget the sight of Hermione Granger running after house elves with socks.”

She laughed politely and scratched her nose. She didn’t like how he kept referencing her by her full name, as if she was a celebrity instead of an old classmate. Perhaps that’s how he saw her anyway. 

“Yes, well, I carried that over into my career. What do you do?”

That was good. Play dumb. She knew what he did. She had his name written and circled on a list on her desk. She had his inventory reports and income statements in her files. She probably knew more about his business than he did. But he didn’t have to know that. 

“Oh, I own some potion supply shops around Great Britain. After father died a few years ago, I decided to do some good and open my own shop. It snowballed from there and now I own the second most successful apothecary business in the UK.”

Hermione almost snorted, but gave him a polite smile instead. Malfoy would probably cum in his pants hearing someone admit they were second best to him. 

“That’s fantastic. I’m sorry about your dad though. He would be so… proud of you, for all the good you’ve done.”

No, he wouldn’t. Horace Nott was an evil, vindictive man who decidedly would _not_ be happy that his only son was using his fortune on _potion making._

“That’s nice of you to say. The ministry though, wow. That must be some job.”

Hermione nodded, twiddling her thumbs together in her lap. “I love it really. It feels good to make a difference.”

He didn’t need to know the extent of her making a difference for the past 5 years was rubber stamping forms and signing off on licences. 

“Sounds like it. What are you working on now?”

She almost laughed. Was it always this easy? When you’re charming, do these things just drop into your lap like this?

Hermione glanced around as if casually assessing her surroundings, as if her heart wasn’t pounding in her chest. “Hm, well I just started forming a new bill to put in front of the Wizmegot.”

Theo whistled low, impressed. “Merlin, a _law-maker._ What for?”

Hermione clicked her tongue as if just discovering something. “ _Theo,_ you’re a part of the apothecary union aren’t you?”

“I am.” He slung an arm over the side of the chair, his fingertips close to grazing Hermione’s shoulder. “Why?”

“It’s just… what a coincidence. The new bill? It’s about the wolfsbane abolishment. I’m forming a new, _better_ bill to satisfy both the apothecary owners and the werewolf population.”

Theo took a long sip of his drink, smacking his lips together slightly. She wondered if it was the alcohol that was making him so susceptible and perhaps she should feel guilty, but _He_ wouldn’t want her to. This was just a means to an end. 

“You know, I don’t even know why they took it away in the first place. So you give away a few free potions a month, big deal. What would be worse is having hoards of unrepressed werewolves roaming around, don’t you think?”

That wasn’t _quite_ the point, but he had the spirit. Old Hermione would correct Theo, stating that on one hand not every apothecary owner had been passed down acres in land in Russia to grow ingredients on. Or that were-people were more likely to find a safe place to hide during the full moon rather than terrorize the streets. 

New Hermione, _His_ Hermione said, “Yes, absolutely. You know, I’d love to pick your brain about it all. Perhaps we’d make a good team.”

She watched his eyes twitch towards her knees again. “I’d like that. What do you say we have dinner this Sunday? I’ll tell you all about wolfsbane, I’ll even show you my ingredients collection.” He winked at her. “Who knows? Maybe I could even help with writing and producing the bill. And who knows more about apothecary business than I do?”

Malfoy did. 

“That’s so kind, I would love to,” Hermione smiled. “Do you think--”

“Sorry I’m late Theo, the dreamless sleep took forever to settle--”

Draco Malfoy was handsome. There was really no getting around that fact. By Britain's standards, it was hot out. Everyone was wearing either a summer dress or a thin polo, but Draco was wearing a casual black button down and matching black trousers. How do you even find black clothing that matches that perfectly?

Malfoy’s eyes flickered from his friend splayed out on the couch, to the woman sitting an arms length away. “Hello, Granger.”

“Malfoy,” she responded politely. 

“I didn’t know you and Theo were… acquainted.” 

Theo laughed. “We were just talking about getting dinner, actually.”

He narrowed his eyes and Hermione couldn’t help the blush that spread across her cheeks. “ _Business_ dinner.” 

“Right, right,” Theo waved off. “Granger here is heading a new bill for the wolves. Isn’t that nice of her?”

To give credit, Malfoy didn’t look shocked. He didn’t even sneer or mock her for her bleeding Gryffindor heart. Instead, he kept his gaze trailed on Theo’s face. “Quite.” 

Theo smirked at his friend. It was smug and didn’t look quite right on his face. Malfoy’s on the other hand… was blank, cold. 

“I should be going,” Hermione stood and brushed her skirt down. “It was nice chatting with you Theo, I’ll see you on Sunday.” She nodded at them both. “Nice to see you, Malfoy.”

Neither said anything as she walked away, their gazes still on each other. 

* * *

There was no note on her desk the next day. 

There was no note on her desk on Wednesday. 

No note on Thursday. 

And by Friday afternoon, Hermione was upset. 

She had looked forward to the next set of instructions. She had hoped _He_ would help her through this dinner with Theo. Perhaps even words of encouragement or a compliment on how well she had done so far, written in his hard pressed writing. 

Then, she felt silly. If this was a person, what were the chances they even _knew_ she had planned a dinner meeting with a potential benefactor? 

But she had come to depend on Him. She thought about Him all the time. What did he look like? What was his name? Was he here right now? Watching her? 

It made a shiver go up her spine. Now, even when she was alone in her flat, she didn’t _feel_ alone. And perhaps to others that would be an unsettling feeling, the feeling of being watched by an unknown source, but it felt… safe. Maybe that wasn’t the right word. Maybe it was _important._ She felt important. 

Hermione sighed, rubbing a hand over her face as she packed her belongings for the day and floo’d home. She wanted a hot bath, a glass of wine, and to plan her course of action for the next day. 

“Hermione Granger?”

She turned her head up from where it was furiously shoving papers into her bag. “Yes?”

The impeccably dressed woman sniffed slightly at the sight of the woman in front of her with an unmatching corduroy skirt and cotton blouse. 

“I have a package for you,” with a flick of her wand, a garment bag seemed to appear out of thin air. 

“I didn’t order any clothes.” Hermione crossed her arms and stared skeptically at the floating bag. 

“Obviously.” the woman drawled, her eyes pointedly looking at Hermione’s outfit. “This isn’t _clothes._ This is a Madam Walker original.”

The woman muttered under her breath, something about _do you know how lucky you are_ and _not sure who would waste such a dress on you_ while the garment floated to bob itself in front of Hermione. 

She carefully unzipped the bag and pushed aside the material. Hermione almost recoiled at the sight, but held her feet steady. It was a beautiful navy chiffon dress… well, what parts of the dress were there. 

Hermione could tell just how low the front plunged from the way the V of the neckline almost met the tapered waist of the dress. 

“I’m also meant to give you this.” 

A slightly crumpled note slapped Hermione’s cheek as it floated in front of her and she grabbed it out of the air quickly. 

_I wish you were wearing this for me. But it will serve you well on Sunday. Every inch of cleavage is another thousand galleons from Theodore Nott._

She quickly zipped the bag against and graped the hanger from mid-air, slinging the dress over the crook of her arm, clutching the note in her fists. 

“Thank you… er…”

The woman rolled her eyes, “Enjoy your gown, Granger.”

There was so much familiar acid in the way she spoke her name, Hermione blinked. “Pansy? Pansy Parkinson?” 

The woman, Pansy, seemed to be both parts surprised and annoyed. “Too you long enough. Not like we went to the same school for _years.”_

“Sorry, you just… You look different. Sorry.” Hermione shook her head, glancing down at the note again. “Pansy, could you… could you tell me who purchased this dress?”

Pansy’s annoyed expression melted away into a smirk. “Oh, Granger, you wouldn’t believe me even if I _did.”_

* * *

She spent all of Saturday preparing herself for the dress. She drank ginger tea in bulk to rid herself of bloating that the tight dress would sure expose. She shaved. She lotioned. She did a few extra minutes of cardio. 

She tried it on. 

The bag did not do it justice. It felt as if each stitch was made especially for her. Just for her. The plunge was just as, if not more, dramatic as she expected. It seemed… inappropriate for what it was to be used for. No matter how beautiful it was.

When she returned home on Friday she had gone over the note obsessively. Making sure each flourish of the g’s matched. Each dotted i. It was _Him._

And at first she was thrilled. He hadn’t forgotten her. 

And then she was flustered. He wanted to see her in this dress. He wanted her to wear it for _Him._

And then she was angry. Did he really think she was so hopeless that she’d have to resort to using her wiles for donation money? Did he not value her intellect as much as she believed he did? 

By Sunday, she had stubbornly refused to wear the dress to dinner. It wasn’t a _date,_ no matter what Nott had insinuated to Malfoy. It was _business,_ strictly. And she would prove that she _could_ charm Theodore Nott using her knowledge and empathy, rather than her chest. 

* * *

She knew her mistake when Nott opened the door. 

He was dressed quite casual in a white button up folded to his elbows and a pair of slightly-too-fitted slacks. Ginny would call it a Seduction Outfit.

And when his face fell at the sight of Hermione’s demure pencil skirt and flowing blouse, if not the stack of files in her hand; she knew. 

She knew when he barely paid attention to the monologue she had prepared as to _why_ he should support this bill and _how_ it would be beneficial to him and _what_ a donation from him would support. 

She knew when he rushed her out before dessert, stating he had “forgotten something he had to do early the next morning.” 

She knew when there was no invitation for a dinner or plans for another meeting about the legislation. 

She knew she had made a mistake. She had questioned _Him,_ after all he had done to earn her loyal trust. 

And she cried that night. Not just because she was still penniless, but because she had disappointed _Him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter but I hope you all enjoy! Thank you all so much for your comments on last chapter!
> 
> I also added a couple more tags so please mind those! I had a lot of comments last chapter concerned about the violence from Draco against Ron. I just wanted to say since this is loosely based on the Phantom of the Opera, I wanted to keep some of those Phantom qualities in Draco which included some darker sides of him. So he will definitely be doing more probably unethical things in the future in the name of helping Hermione, but I think you will all enjoy :)


	6. The Music of the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Non-con touching

_Slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendor_   
_Grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender_   
_Hearing is believing, music is deceiving_   
_Hard as lightening, soft as candlelight_   
_Dare you trust the music of the night?_

* * *

“So, I’m confused.” 

Harry stuffed a chip into the side of his cheek and chewed slowly. 

“About?” Hermione sighed, running a hand through her curls. 

It had been two weeks since her dinner with Theo. She had paid a visit to Colton Fields in hopes that he would, by some miracle, open his arms and his bank account to her. He had all but laughed in her face as the bulk of his shops were outside of the UK ministries territory and therefore, the wolfsbane law had never applied to him in the first place. 

The stress was eating away at her. The first full moon without the protection of the law would be in a week's time and Hermione was almost physically ill with worry. What would happen to those who now went without their potion? 

She had barely slept and when she did, it was often fitful and for short periods of time. 

She knew she looked a mess with frizzed curls from her tossing and turning and dark bags under her eyes.

Harry had taken one look at her and practically clawed her away from her desk and into the cafeteria for food and caffeine, which was much appreciated by Hermione. She sipped greedily at the hot coffee and was already more than halfway through her sandwich by the time Harry felt it was right to ask what had gotten her into such a state.

At first, of course, he had assumed it was her split from Ron. Which was understandable since it had only been weeks prior and the Prophet had yet to find a story bigger than the breakup of two thirds of the Golden Trio. 

Hermione, purposely forgoing the information about her secret writer, had told him about the legislation and her struggle to come up with the proper finances to fund a new bill. 

_ He  _ had written her once, the day after her failed dinner with Theo. It was a simple message:

_ Are you ready to listen? _

And now it had been almost two weeks since she heard from him. She wished she had a way to contact Him.  _ Yes,  _ she’d write,  _ yes I’m ready to listen and I’m sorry I ever doubted you and God I think I need you.  _

But He hadn’t reached out since and it was causing Hermione to panic. Was he mad that she had disobeyed Him? Had he given up on her? 

“Well,” Harry began. “You need money. And you’ve already gone through all of the apothecary owners except for Malfoy. And I don’t know if you know this, Hermione, but when I think of money it’s a still frame of Draco Malfoy’s face.” 

Hermione scrunched her nose. “Harry, it's practically against my religion to ask for a Malfoy’s help with anything. Can you imagine?”

He shrugged, “He’s not that bad. I see him at all the charity fundraisers for the DLME and--”

Hermione perked up, pulling the rim of the cup away from her lips as she was about to take a sip, “Say that again.”

Harry furrowed his brows, thinking back on his previous point, “I said he’s not bad.”

“No not that,” Hermione huffed, “after that.”

“Oh, he’s always at our fundraisers and--”

“That’s  _ brilliant,  _ Harry!” She squealed. “You’re a genius!”

“I am?” Poor Harry looked so put out as he watched her collect her belongings hurriedly. 

“You are,” Hermione placed a quick kiss to the top of his head and practically flounced from the dining hall. 

“But I don’t even know what I’ve done!” 

* * *

A fundraiser. How had she not thought of that before? She could most definitely get Mary on board with the idea as long as she got permission from Mr. Burk to use some of the department budget, with a promise to replenish it after she had met her monetary goal of course. 

It was perfect. This way it wouldn’t be strictly dependent on one benefactor. With renewed hope, Hermione finished her days work, eagerly glancing up at the fireplaces every few moments to check for any sign of her boss. 

It was just after 6 when he finally did stroll through the floo, briefcase in hand and a stack of, probably overdue, paperwork in the other. 

“Mr. Burk,” Hermione called to him and he staggered back, unaware that anyone else would be in the office so late. 

Since her adoption of the project, and under Mary’s terms, Hermione went home on time nearly every day and did her supplementary work from her dining table, which was now more like an oversized desk. 

“Granger, I had no idea you’d be here so late.”

“Well, sir, I was actually hoping I could talk to you about something.” Hermione was proud of the confident tenor in her voice and the way she had managed to keep her arms straight to her side and not rub her hands nervously in front of her. 

She watched him glance down at his wrist watch and then steal a glance around the office. Practically everyone had left for the day and those who were still behind were now starting to trickle away into the floos. 

“Sure, I have a moment to spare. Come in.”

He stepped aside to allow her to slip through the door that led into the private room. It had large paneled windows that looked out over the bullpen where Hermione and the others worked, but at the moment the blinds were drawn and her view to the other desks was blocked. 

The room was beautiful, as far as offices went. The far wall was made of windows that looked out to the streets of Diagon Alley from hundreds of feet up. You could practically see the bottom rolls of low hanging clouds from there. The wood of the desk, bookshelf, and chairs were a rich mahogany and the accent colors of yellow and blue were soft.

It was the kind of office Hermione could picture herself in one day. 

“So,” Mr. Burk took the seat opposite of hers on the other side of the desk, folding his hands to rest on his sternum and leaning back casually in the chair, causing it to squeak loudly. “What can  _ I  _ do for the beautiful Miss. Granger?”

Hermione’s eye twitched as she cringed slightly. 

“As you know I’ve been working on a new bill for the wolfsbane legislation under Mrs. Parson’s guidance,” Hermione began. His lips folded slightly to one side and his eyes narrowed. 

Hermione knew it was a sore spot for him. When he had first discovered she had been conversing and even working closely with  _ his  _ boss, he had been furious. He had never said so outright, but the way he glared and sneered at her in the days after was more than enough of a hint to Hermione. 

And how could she blame him? Mary had been making it very clear she did not think he was suited for the position he had and was actively looking for any reason to replace him and now it was evident that Hermione was a contender and therefore, a threat. But still, the budget was in his hands exclusively and she needed his explicit permission to use it. So she would play nice, if she had to. 

“And I’m currently trying to come up with the money to move the process along,” she continued, “and I was, well-- I had the thought of doing a fundraising event and was hoping it would be something the DRCMC would be interested in hosting.”

“Mm,” he pondered softly, narrowing his eyes slightly at her. 

Hermione’s stomach and heart seemed to meet in the middle of her throat as she jumped to press on, “We could allocate extra funds towards the department. It would be like the money never left the budget. I’ll keep the event small even, we could host it at Hogwarts over the Holiday break, I could get Headmistress McGonagall to agree, and the catering could be handled by the house elves there so we could save money…”

She was rambling. She hadn’t even thought as far as the when or where or who of the fundraiser yet, but she was just so  _ desperate  _ for this to work.

Mr. Burk slowly licked his teeth under his closed lips.

“Ms. Granger,” he said after a moment. “The department has more pressing matters that require attention than your side project.”

“But, sir--”

“If I allowed you free reign of our budget, I’d have to make that exception for everyone,” he leaned further back in his chair with a dramatically resigned sigh. “You understand, don’t you?”

Hermione’s lips were so thinly pressed together her teeth hurt. This was retaliation, she knew it was. He was angry at her for her new status with Mary Parsons and he was jealous that she was heading such an important project as a subordinate employee and she couldn’t  _ believe  _ she had thought that he would have  _ some  _ semblance of decency to aid her. 

“Of course, sir.” She stood up, brushing her palms against the front of her slacks in what she hoped was a nonchalant departure and made her way for the door.

“Perhaps,” Burk’s voice mused from behind her. “I could be persuaded.”

Hermione’s blood ran cold and her hand froze tightly on the knob of the door. She felt him behind her, although she didn’t dare turn around to meet his eye. And she nearly gagged when he brushed a piece of hair from her shoulder. 

“What do you say, Granger?” he hummed into her ear. “You scratch my back, then I’ll scratch yours.”

She practically convulsed at the feeling of his grubby hand sliding around her hip. She didn’t even recall sliding her wand from its holster on her wrist until a sudden  _ bang  _ made her turn around, her back pressed firmly against the door. 

Burk was flat on his ass, cradling his head that had surely been knocked against the bookcase above him, where small trinkets and books avalanched around him due to the impact.

“You frigid  _ bitch,”  _ he hissed at her from his place on the ground, eyes seething and practically foaming at the mouth. “Good luck finding  _ anyone  _ to support your bloody bill after you’ve been  _ fired  _ for attacking me.”

Hermione didn’t offer a rebuttal. Barely offered him another glance as she exited his office and walked numbly to the fireplaces. She had left all her belongings on her desk and she knew and she couldn’t bring herself to care. 

It was just all  _ wrong.  _ He was  _ wrong.  _ They wouldn’t fire her for that, would they? He was  _ propositioning her!  _ She’d submit a memory if she had to. She could prove it. Mary would support her, wouldn’t she?

Either way, there was still a ghost of a feeling on her hip where his hand had been and she knew exactly which curl he had touched and her neck felt dirty from his breath as he whispered in her ear. She had dealt with a lot; emotional manipulation, physical violence from Death Eaters, heartbreak. But never this. How would she face him in the morning?

“Granger?”

She hadn’t even noticed she was staring blankly into the fire pit until it roared to life, pushing forward a familiar head of blonde hair and broad shoulders. She blinked up at him, their proximity showing his true height to her. 

“Malfoy.”

“What are you doing here?” he inquired, looking around at the otherwise empty office space. 

“I work here,” she answered numbly and his face contorted into confusion and something else she couldn’t quite place. “What are  _ you  _ doing here?”

“It’s nearly after 7.” Draco ignored her question and Hermione was too frazzled, too overwhelmed, too upset to even question what  _ he  _ knew about her work habits and why it  _ mattered  _ where she was on her own time. 

Hermione shrugged.

“Granger, are you alright?”

She hadn’t even noticed her bottom lip was quivering or her knees were shaking or her hands were trembling at her sides. “I’m fine, Malfoy, I just need to go home.”

She moved to step around him into the fireplace that he had just exited from when he grabbed her elbow. “Wait--”

Hermione jolted away from him, her eyes wide and guarded as she folded into herself away from him. “Don’t  _ touch me.” _

If it was any other time, Hermione would have loved the look of wild confusion and distress on Malfoy’s face when she pulled away from him, but was too preoccupied with the helpless feeling of so many men  _ grabbing  _ her in such a short amount of time.    
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted to know what happened.” His voice was pleading, as if knowing what had caused her so much distress was the most important information to him. 

“I--” Hermione began and then sucked in a staggered breath when she heard the unmistakable creek of Burk’s office door opening again. “I have to go.”

She stumbled into the fireplace, throwing a pile of green dust at her feet and shakily called out her residence’s name.

_ “What did you do--”  _ was the last thing she heard before she disappeared into the flames, but she barely noticed. 

That night she warded her floo three times, even the connection to Harry and Ginny’s house was severed. She slept on top of her blankets, with her shoes on and wand firmly in hand, as she had done a million times during the war. 

* * *

The next day, thankfully, Burk was not in the office. Hermione expected to be cornered the moment she stepped out of the floo by him or another high up to be reprimanded, or worse, fired. She worked all day with her head down.

The second day, Burk was not in the office. Hermione flinched every time the floo would sound or a door would open, expecting it to be him. But it never was. 

The seventh day, Mary had sent her a memo via owl that no one had heard from Michael Burk in several days and inquiring when the last time she had seen him was. Hermione wrote back honestly; that she had stayed behind at work a few days prior to speak with him and had left before he did. She didn’t even think to mention her brief interaction with Malfoy before she left or question his unwarranted appearance to the DRCMC so late. 

“Maybe he crawled in a hole and died, that fucking  _ wanker,”  _ Ginny huffed, balancing a plate of biscuts on her protruding belly. 

Hermione hummed in agreement. 

It was a Sunday and while Harry was away at work, Hermione decided to pay a visit to help Ginny with whatever her severely pregnant self was unable to do. Which, evidently, was not much as Ginny  _ insisted  _ on doing everything herself or with her own magic.

Instead Hermione provided company and felt the urge to confide in her only female friend about what had transpired between herself and her boss. 

“It just doesn’t add up, Gin. One second he’s threatening to get my fired,  _ convinced  _ he can do so, and then what? He suddenly realizes what he did was wrong and leaves?”

“Could be.” Ginny offered through a mouthful of biscuit. 

“No, I don’t think so,” Hermione sighed. “Honestly after Ron’s fall I think He might have--”

Hermione stopped short, her eyes widening as she realized what she had said. 

“Ron? What’s he got to do with this?” Ginny’s face was scrunched up in confusion. 

“It’s not  _ Ron,”  _ Hermione licked her lips. “Ginny, if I tell you something, do you promise not to tell Harry?”

“Sure I do.”

“I mean it, Gin. An unbreakable vow if you have to, but he can’t know. Okay? Not a soul.”

Ginny’s eyes widened comically, she tossed her empty plate to the side and wiggled her pregnant body up into a sitting position. “Hermione, you’re scaring me. What’s going on?”

“I’ve been getting… letters.”

“Like threats?”

“No,” Hermione reassured her, “No, not threats. They’re more like… clues.” 

And so she fell into the story of her first note. The dresses. Pansy. Theo. Mary. And finally, she had elaborated on her concern that Ron’s accident and the disappearance of her boss was not that uncommonly linked. 

“Holy shite.”

“I know,” Hermione sighed, leaning her head back against the couch.   
“I mean seriously,  _ wow.”  _

“Yes, I know.”

“Well, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to keep entertaining him.”

Hermione perked up at that, her head swiveling to face her friend’s concerned face. “What?”

“Come on, Hermione. You think he broke your boyfriend’s leg--”

“Ex-boyfriend.”

Ginny rolled her eyes, “Not at the time. And even if he wasn’t, no matter how much of a prat Ron is, it almost ruined his career. And now you think he’s made some  _ disappear.  _ Hermione, when will you be on the receiving end of this?”

“Never.” she answered confidently, her hackles raising at Ginny's incessant questioning of Him. 

“Hermione,” Ginny began slowly, catching her gaze. “You don’t… Merlin, you  _ like  _ this person! You  _ like  _ this! You don’t even know them, Hermione, you don’t even know for sure if it’s a man at all.”

“He is,” Hermione snapped back, folding her arms across her chest. “ _ You  _ don’t know Him, Ginny, but  _ I  _ do. He… He  _ cares  _ about me. And I said I didn’t know for sure that any of that was him anyway, I was just speculating out loud.”

“But--”

“Just forget I mentioned it.” 

Hermione huffed, drawing into herself. Of course Ginny wouldn’t understand. Her husband was Harry Potter, her hero, the world’s hero. And Hermione’s hero was…  _ Him. _

“I’m just worried about you is all,” Ginny gently rubbed her belly. “Our little boy needs his Aunt Hermione and I could never forgive myself if you were hurt by… this. I promise I won’t tell Harry, or anyone else, if you  _ promise  _ to be careful.”

Hermione’s shoulders relaxed. “I will, Ginny. I promise I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all SO much for the love on last chapter! I know this installment is a little late, I announced that I'd be postponing posting as I was working on something else, which I released today: Watching Me, Watching You (which you can find on my profile!) 
> 
> For other updates or to say hi, reach out to me on tumblr: dirty-mudblood.tumblr.com


	7. Prima Donna

_Who scorn his word beware to those_   
_The angel sees, the angel knows_

* * *

Mr. Burk had yet to appear, even after now three weeks of his unexplained absence. Though the office did not fall in on itself like you would expect it would without its leader, as most of the work was delegated to the other employees anyways.

His office stood empty and closed, as it usually did, but the aura that it gave off was different. In the first week of his absence, the vacant room was nothing but a foreboding reminder to Hermione that when he came back to claim it, she would be at war. 

But he never did come back. 

Each day that passed where the room stayed collecting dust, Hermione found it easier to breathe. She knew, precisely a week and 3 days after his disappearance, that he wasn’t coming back. 

She didn’t ask questions, because she didn’t _want_ to know. If it was _Him…_ Then she would be responsible for it, too, right? If He was protecting her and Mr. Burk was her boss, then the common factor was her. 

It was better to not know, to not ask questions. Just as she did when Ron hurt his leg. It was better to not mull over the sick satisfaction she felt, the gross pleasure, that she _liked_ that he’d done it for her. Allegedly. 

Mary had become a staple in the office during Mr. Burk’s absenteeism. As much as Hermione enjoyed Mary as a friend, she enjoyed her as a superior just as so. 

She was tough. While Burk was not much on deadlines, Mary valued them. Things were no longer turned in the day of, but the day before at a minimum. 

But she was also sweet. She said hello to everyone each morning, even Dennis as he passed around mail. She made it a point to not only ask about work, but also home life as well. 

On September the 2nd Mary entered the office looking tired, worried, and worn. Her usual primped blonde hair was now pulled into what only Hermione could pass off as a half-decent hairdo. Her mascara faded into the bags under eyes and her whole body seemed to sag forward as she made her way to the vacant conference room where she often set up shop. 

_“Good morning, Mrs. Parsons!” Dennis greeted cheerfully as she passed, but the woman did nothing but blink as if she hadn’t heard him and kept on her way._

_“What do you reckon happened to her?” Hermione heard someone whisper._

_“Who knows.”_

_But Hermione did know. Tomorrow was the first full moon since this entire disaster started._

_Cautiously, Hermione approached the door of the meeting room and knocked gently._

_“What is it?”_

_She opened the door carefully and peaked her head through. Mary’s face relaxed significantly and crooked a finger to beckon her inside._

_“Hermione, hi.”_

_“Hello, Mrs. Parsons, I brought you some tea.” Hermione set the mug down in front of her and the woman gave a relieved sigh, letting the steam billow over her face before taking a small sip and groaning._

_“I can taste the caffeine. Thank you, really.”_

_“May I?” Hermione gestured to the chair at the table opposite of Mary._

_“I insist, please.”_

_They sat in silence for a moment, Mary sipping her tea greedily and Hermione watching her do so._

_“If I may be frank,” Mary broke the silence after a moment. “This is a bloody fucking nightmare.”_

_Hermione gave an empathic smile, “John okay?”_

_“Because there’s no regulation on wolfsbane anymore, the apothecaries have deemed it appropriate to raise the price. By 300 galleons, that is. 300. Can you imagine?”_

_“No, I--”_

_“And the only place that has kept their price is Malfoy’s and now they’re out of an entire supply for at least two months. And, sure, we can afford the expensive stuff if that’s what we’re left with. But, Hermione, that’s nearly 4,000 galleons a year. That’s our savings. That’s-- that’s our children’s wedding money,” Mary pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes and sniffled loudly. “And, Merlin, I know it seems too trivial because there are thousands of people out there who won’t even be able to get it at all and they’ll be in so much pain tomorrow… but I just feel so helpless.”_

And a bloody fucking nightmare it was. 

Three werepeople had ended up locked away for attempting to attack patrons of a bar who had stepped out for a smoke. Fifteen were now in St. Mungos for various injuries, including a man who had almost completely severed his hand trying to escape the metal shackles he had put on himself before turning. In the course of the night, an additional eleven people were added to the werewolf registry, including a toddler who had snuck away to find his mama in the middle of the night. And find her he did. 

Hermione expected this to be huge. A public outcry of feeling unsafe and a push to restore the wolfsbane bill to get back to normalcy. 

But, nothing. 

Nothing except for a new addition of the quibbler on her desk, a note attached guiding her to the correct pages. 

_Pages 12, 15, and 22. Don’t expect this to be in the Prophet, they’d rather pay off the paper and let the public bleed rather than admit their faults. But we won’t let them get away with that, will we Granger?_

Hermione had run her fingers over her name. It had never looked so beautiful written before: the way the G curved delicately into the R and slanted and looped and flourished. It was the way her name had always meant to be written. 

She had only moments to admire the penmanship and mull over the new information when Harry’s patronus illuminated the office. Ginny was in labor. 

* * *

James Sirius Potter was, like his namesakes, a difficult and stubborn child from the very first contraction. 

Ginny had decided on a birth plan that included both her mother and Harry being present, which quickly turned into Harry being ushered out of the room all together to gather ice. The healer suggested he take his time in coming back. 

And that’s how Hermione found him: sitting against the wall next to Ginny’s door with his legs straight out and chewing on a cup of ice. 

“Hiya, _dad.”_

Harry blinked up at his friend, swallowing a mouth full of chewed ice, and smiled. “Sounds odd, doesn’t it?” 

“No,” Hermione smiled back at him warmly. “I actually think it suits you.” 

He shot her a crooked grin and patted the ground next to him. “Well, have a seat. He should be along any minute now.” 

As if on cue they heard Ginny scream violently, something that sounded all too much like _fuck you, Potter._

Hermione slid down the wall to sit next to her friend, tucking her knees against her chest. 

“An hour ago she was threatening to divorce me, so I think that’s a significant improvement.”

Hermione hummed. “Where are the rest of the Weasleys?”

“George is closing up the shop and should be here shortly,” Harry counted off on his fingers. “Charlie is still in Romania, he should be here on Friday. Percy and Arthur are around here somewhere, but Bill went home to get Fleur and Vicky to meet her new cousin.”

“And Ron?”

Harry sighed, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. “In Romania. We practically begged him to come, but he finally got cleared to play again and he says he has too much training to catch up on to leave.”

There are moments in your life where everything falls into place. Someone says something and all of a sudden, everything else makes sense. This is Ron’s best friend, his baby sister, his first nephew. And Hermione breathed a slight sigh of relief knowing she would not be left behind at a hospital giving birth to their child, alone. 

“I’m sure he’ll be here as soon as he can.” 

Hermione rubbed her thumb over Harry’s hand soothingly. They sat in silence for a while, listening to the muffled sounds of the hospital around them. This was a familiar feeling for them, being left behind by Ron for his own reasonings. Relying on each other for comfort in the face of the unknown: first a war and now parenthood. 

“Mr. Potter,” a head peaked out from the door next to them. A kind looking man with dark hair and prominent crows feet smiled. “You can come in now, she’s ready to push.”

Harry sat frozen blinking up at the doctor as if he hadn’t heard a word he said. 

“Oh for Gods sake, Harry.” Hermione sighed, using her hands to shove at his shoulder until he scrambled to his feet. 

He opened the door as the healer stepped out of his way. He paused before entering and glanced back at Hermione still sitting on the ground. 

“Wish me luck?”

Hermione snorted, standing and brushing off the back of her skirt. “You won’t be doing anything, but good luck to Ginny.”

He nodded, still grinning and shaking his head in disbelief. 

“Harry? Go meet your son.”

He left her in the hallway alone, staring at the now closed door. Hermione smiled. Harry deserved this. A family. A real family. 

She pressed a hand over her stomach, feeling the creases of her shirt and the flat skin underneath it. She had imagined a family, too. At one point it had been with Ron, briefly in Hogwarts she had imagined a long romance with Viktor that would lead to a family. But now that image looked different in her mind. 

_He_ was in her mind. 

Was he tall? Taller than her, surely. Athletic, too. Would their children take after her bookishness or his athleticism? He would have good teeth, a strong jaw. Light hair? No, dark. Thick. With kind eyes, yes. And of course a big--

Hermione shook her head. It was almost pathetic, the way she was clinging to a man she had never met and imagined a future with him. 

She stood there for what seemed like hours, blinking at the door. Arthur and Percy had found her in such a state, asking if she was alright. 

_“Oh, yes,”_ she had said. _“Hospitals just made me uneasy.”_

And they nodded in understanding, too overwhelmed with the prospect of a new family member to question it further. 

Bill, Fleur, and their daughter arrived soon after and Hermione was relieved when the Weasleys gathered together to coo over the young girl and paid no further attention to her. 

Finally Harry emerged, grinning stupidly and sweating over the brow. He looked tired, but happier than Hermione had ever seen him. Her heart both fluttered for him and her stomach sank at the jealousy she felt in this moment; the only one here who was now not a part of the family. 

“He’s here,” he announced, “Come meet him.”

Ginny lounged sleepily on the hospital bed, a blue bundle wrapped in her arms that she passed over first to her father. 

“My first grandson,” Arthur said proudly, “He looks just like you, Gin.”

Hermione peeked over his shoulder. Though he was red and swollen and still wet from his first bath, he was beautiful. And while his face was undeniably Weasley, his hair was a pitch black fluff on the top of his head. 

“He’s beautiful,” Hermione whispered, watching his little mouth open in a yawn. “Well done, Ginny.”

The witch snorted lazily, which drew Hermione’s attention to her bedside. A gigantic bouquet of flowers practically consumed the table next to her. 

“From Ron?” Hermione asked, tilting her chin towards the flowers. 

“Actually,” Ginny reached out to touch a rose. “They’re from Malfoy.”

Hermione blinked. “Which Malfoy?”

“The alive one,” Harry offered pointedly, “I told you he’s not all bad now. They appeared after James was born.”

“Along with an offer for free contraceptive potion,” Ginny rolled her eyes, but was smiling. “He said the world could only handle so many Potters.”

Hermione ignored the joke, although the rest of the room patrons snickered. “I wasn’t aware you were close with him.”

“He’s Teddy’s cousin,” Harry shrugged, moving to collect his son from his father in law. “He’s good to him, which makes him alright by me. Even offered to watch him while Ginny was in labor, but Andromeda already said she would.”

Harry offered the baby to Hermione’s arms, but she stepped back. He frowned but conceded, letting Fleur have a turn. 

“Sorry I’m just having a hard time wrapping my head around this. You and Draco Malfoy.”

“Like I said, Hermione, he’s not bad. I had my doubts, too. I still do sometimes, but it seems he’s really changed. He’s even asked about you.”

“Me?” Hermione sputtered loudly, blushing when the rest of the group turned their attention to her for a moment and then back to the baby. “Sorry… What did he say?”

Harry shrugged, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Just asked how you were and what you were up to in life.”  
“What did you tell him?”

“Well,” Harry pondered carefully. “I told him about your job at the ministry. Oh and how you and Ron were still together at the time. I don’t think much, really, it was just a casual conversation.”

Hermione nodded, watching Bill instruct his daughter how to hold James correctly. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to hold him?”

“Yes. I think I’ll let his family soak it in. I should go, actually.”

Harry grabbed her wrist as she turned to leave. “Hermione, you’re our family too. James is your family.”

Hermione smiled, placing her hand over Harry’s. “I know, Harry. I know.”

* * *

After spending so long around the Weasleys and their constant noise, it was almost a shock to walk into such a quiet apartment. 

Hermione groaned, throwing herself onto the small, plush couch and kicking off her heels. Rubbing the sore heels, she flicked her wand to start the kettle. 

Deciding she wanted to enjoy her tea in more comfortable clothing, Hermione stood and immediately gasped when she spotted a large, dark figure at her window. 

A hand flew to her chest, calming her racing heart when the owl hooted gently. “Merlin, you scared me.”

The owl cooed, shaking its leg at her to retrieve the scroll hanging from a small piece of twine. Hermione complied, smoothing out the animal’s feathers as she did. 

“And who do you belong to?”

The owl hooted politely, its massive frame blocking almost the entire opening of the window. She unrolled the scroll and her heart leapt at the familiar handwriting. 

_Sorry to catch you at home like this. I know you like your peace and quiet. Much easier to get it without Ron Weasley filtering in and out? But I needed to catch you before you left for work._

_There will be an opportunity that presents itself tomorrow. I can’t go too much into detail, but I trust your intelligence will guide you to it._

_Sweet dreams, Granger._

Hermione bit her lip, her chest thrumming at the note and the implications of something beneficial tomorrow. 

“Can… Can you stay?” Hermione asked the owl quickly. “I just want to write a reply. Please.”

The owl hooted. 

Hermione rushed to her desk, ripping off a piece of parchment and dipping her quill into a fresh pot of ink. It dripped onto the sheet of paper as she hesitated. 

What would she say? 

_Thank you, please let me meet you, I think I’ve found you for a reason._

By the time she finished her note, full of unsure marks and crossed out sentences, and returned to the window: the owl was gone. 

In the distance, Hermione heard the kettle whistle its completion. The note crumbled in her fist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you guys, thank you for being patient with me <3


	8. All I Ask of You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The love on last chapter... wow. I have no words. You guys are seriously the best and for that, here is a ridiculously long chapter that you all deserve <3 lots of stuff happening here...

_Let me lead you from your solitude_   
_Say you need me with you here, beside you_

_Anywhere you go, let me go too_

* * *

She didn’t sleep much that night. 

Not that she had been lately, but there was evidently a huge difference between four and a half hours of sleep and three hours. There was just too much to consider that left little time for rest. 

What was happening tomorrow? How would she know when it’s happening? How does _He_ know it’s happening? Would He… would He be there, watching it unfold? 

Hermione spent the night tossing and turning, considering the thousands of outcomes and possibilities of tomorrow, considering _Him._

How did He find her? _Why_ did He find her? 

She turned onto her back, letting the sheet fall to her waist. What did He _want_ with her?

The window on the far wall illuminated with the night sky and the dull lights of the street below her. Was He watching her now?

_Sweet dreams, Granger._

She let a hand pass over her breast, pausing slightly over a taunt nipple, before traveling down to lightly trail her cotton clad stomach. Her hand stilled at the sheet crumbled at her hips. Would He know if she… 

She snatched her roaming hand away, balling it into a fist and tucking it behind her head. 

This was insanity, wasn’t it? Perhaps Ginny was right and Hermione was putting too much trust into someone she didn’t know. She knew Ginny would be horrified if she found out how deeply that devotion ran. 

By the next morning, Hermione was almost in a daze. The lack of sleep was physically and mentally evident. She had sat down at the wrong desk when she first arrived and didn’t notice until Dennis had dropped mail off at the desk with the name _Nicholas Finn._ He blessedly said nothing even as Hermione scurried back to her own desk. 

She had obsessively begun checking the clock, praying the minutes would tick by faster until whatever _He_ had hinted at would happen. But by noon, Hermione was practically falling asleep on her desk. 

She tapped her quill against her chin, analysing the clock hands. There was a coffee station just down on the first floor of the ministry. She could be there and be back, coffee in hand, in less than 20 minutes. 

It was either that or she’d miss the opportunity all together with her face pressed against her desk and drool coming from the corner of her mouth. 

“Dennis,” he snapped his head up from where he was magically sorting the mail in his cart. “I just need to run down to the atrium. Will you just watch over my desk? I’m expecting something today that’s very important. I don’t want to miss it.”

“Sure thing, Ms. Granger,” Dennis nodded, “But what is it I should be looking for?”

“I--” Hermione furrowed her brows, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth. In fact, she _didn’t_ know what she was supposed to look for, so how was she to tell Dennis? _He_ had been so vague in his letter, it could be anything. “Nevermind, it probably won’t come while I’m gone anyway. Just please notify me if anything comes, okay?” 

Dennis nodded, giving her an odd look. Hermione prayed he would chalk it up to her apparent dillirusnous today. 

_I could tell him I took a little too much Dreamless Sleep last night,_ Hermione pondered as she watched the lift descend the many floors of the ministry. _That would explain my odd behavior. Not that he’d outwardly question it._

The gold numbers lit up quickly to signal the various floors being passed and Hermione grunted as the lift jolted and stopped, letting a few staff members in. She grumbled softly as they slowly entered the space and spoke quietly to each other. She checked the muggle watch on her wrist, of course the time was now flying by when she was rushing. 

When they finally made it to the bottom floor, Hermione tapped her foot impatiently as they took their sweet time exiting the lift. 

She began pushing her way through the crowd who were moving in and out of the lift when she spotted a familiar head of blonde hair. 

“Malfoy?” 

She couldn’t put her finger on it, but there was an odd sense of deja vu as she exited the elevator and saw him. The look he gave her almost mimicked her thoughts before it was quickly masked by a smirk. Perhaps it was just the lack of sleep messing with her memory.

“Granger. What are you doing here?”

Hermione sneered. No matter how much Harry or Ginny vouched for him, there was just something supremely _unlikeable_ about Draco Malfoy. “I work here, Malfoy, you know that. But _you_ don’t.” 

Draco rolled back his shoulders as if his hackles were up. “I do a lot of business with the ministry, I’ll have you know, and--”

Hermione cut him off with a sigh, rubbing a hand over her eyes. “I’m sorry I asked. I’m actually in a hurry and need to beat the line for coffee. You’ll have to excuse me--”

“I’ll join you.”

Hermione quirked her brow and looked behind them at the lift doors which were now closing. “But weren’t you just--”

“I could go for a green tea,” he said with finality. “The ministry makes some of the best.”

Hermione wanted to argue that fact, especially considering Malfoy was undoubtedly used to some rare strains of tea from India or Sri Lanka that would not be comparable to the commercial grade tea from the ministry. But she could also see the line forming and growing longer and was so desperate to get her coffee and go that she just sighed. “Fine-- just-- okay, yes, fine. Let’s go.” 

She wanted to smack that exceptionally pleased smirk off his face, but was too busy grumbling and moaning as they added themselves to the queue where there were at least 50 other people in front of them. It was the cost of working in a building with hundreds of people and only one option for caffeine. 

“Long night?” 

He was eyeing her sideways, analysing her dark circles and crossed arms and tapping foot. 

“Short night actually, not enough sleep.”

Draco hummed as they stepped forward in line, his arm brushing against her shoulder. There was a shock where their bodies met and Hermione blushed, stepping further to the side. 

“Want to talk about it?” 

Hermione scoffed, giving the man next to her an incredulous look. “As if you’d care.”

She stepped forward in line again as another person finished their order and Draco stepped up alongside her. “Pretend I do. You quite obviously have a problem--”

Hermione snorted indignantly. 

“--and I’m good at solving them.”

Hermione assessed him carefully. She expected to see some sort of mocking in his expression, but there was only genuine interest. Maybe even a little… hopefulness? 

She weighed her options carefully. Putting herself in a vulnerable position with Draco Malfoy was never smart. If he knew she was struggling, that she was _weak,_ maybe he’d use that against her. On the other hand, she had exhausted all of her other resources in the realm of apothecary owners and as begrudged as she was to admit it, Malfoy was the _last_ one left who hadn’t given her a stern “no” or stopped answering her inquiries all together. 

Hermione sighed. The line was moving considerably slower now, someone at the front was arguing over the price of extra milk in their tea and Hermione checked her watch.

“How much do you know about the Wolfsbane bill?”

Draco pursed his lips in thought, something that would have looked quite endearing if it hadn’t been, well, _him._ “Everything.”

Hermione shot him a look before craning her neck around to assess the line again. “I’m serious, Malfoy.”

“I’m serious, too. It’s my job to know anything that would impact business.” 

Hermione gave a sharp laugh. “I highly doubt this is impacting your profits.”

“You’re right, it’s not. Because I haven’t changed my prices.” 

Hermione paused mid step as she moved forward, the patron in front happily walking away with a complimentary portion of milk. She turned to blink at Malfoy, who was smiling innocently at her. _Bet you didn’t think I was going to say that, did you?_

“What are you on about?”

She almost cringed at her accusatory tone, but Malfoy barely even blinked. “Nothing’s changed with my apothecaries. The week of the full moon the Wolfsbane is free and any time after that there is a discount for those on the registry.”

“Why… Why? I mean… Why? You could have gotten hundreds… _thousands_ more galleons this past month alone.” 

Draco gestured forward to guide Hermione up in line. They were steadily moving closer to the stand. “Why? As a human being? Because it’s the right thing to do. As a business owner? Because loyalty breeds loyalty. If I give a woman her son’s Wolfsbane when he needs it, she won’t think twice to come to my shops for her Calming Draughts or contraceptives.” 

He shrugged as if it was the most casual, footnote of a thing. He was even lazily reading the menu now that they were close enough to it. Hermione opened and closed her mouth, trying to process and form words at the same time. 

She was quite awake now, staring at Malfoy with his hands in his pockets and swaying on the balls of his feet. 

“Are you not… _concerned_ with how your profits will size up against the others?”

Draco tutted. “No matter how hard they try or whatever loop holes they find in the law, _my_ company will always come out on top. Ask me why, Granger.”

She didn’t, but he moved on anyway. “People like Elgin Browne or Colton Fields, even Theo as close as we are, think that profit is about self preservation. More money for their shops means more money for them. But, Granger, It’s not self preservation. It’s greed. And I learned both from my father.” 

He gave her a pointed look. “As absolutely horrible as that man was, he knew money and where it comes from and how to get it. Perhaps not in the most… honorable of ways, but nonetheless. You’d have known about this if you stayed for my book reading.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Give me the cliff notes.” 

Draco leant next to her suddenly, his mouth close to her ear as she did everything in her power to keep looking forward. To any onlookers, they would look like they were having an intimate discussion between friends or maybe lovers, with the way he was pressing himself against her. 

He began whispering, but Hermione could focus on nothing but the sweet smell of mint on his breath and the warmth that radiated from his chest. She cleared her throat loudly. 

“Sorry… Sorry, repeat that please?”

She hoped she wasn’t blushing. Merlin, she hoped she was not blushing in front of Draco Malfoy, _because_ of Draco Malfoy. 

“I said, have you ever heard the muggle expression ‘you catch more birds with honey’?”

Hermione snickered. “That’s not the saying, but yes I know what you mean.”

Draco shrugged, the movement causing his chest to press up closer to her shoulder. “Imagine what everyone in this room would say if they found out the DRCMC was refusing medication to poor, defenseless werechildren. _That’s_ why they’re keeping it out of the papers, Granger. The public has more control over what the ministry does than vice versa. And they know it.”   
Hermione turned to look up at him. His face was so close to hers, but being so much taller than her she still had to turn her chin up to catch his eyes. “So what then? I should go to the Prophet? Cause a public outcry?” 

Draco tutted again. “You’re lucky you’re not in business Granger, you’d be a shoddy negotiator. The ministry has probably offered more to the Prophet for their closed mouths than you could ever match. No, no, that wouldn’t do. What _you_ need, Granger, is to make them _think_ you could.”

Hermione shook her head, “I don’t understand, Malfoy. Make _who_ think _what?”_

He leaned forward to whisper again, this time so close it tickled the curls around her ears and made her shiver slightly. “You have to convince the Ministry you can buy out the Prophet. That you _can_ cause a public outcry and ruin their reputation. Unfortunately these types of people care more about galleons than human rights, Granger. You have to play _their_ game. You can’t make them care, but you can force them to.” 

Hermione bit her lip. “I don’t… I don’t know how.”

It was something she’d hoped to never say to him. I don’t know. Hermione Granger doesn’t _know._ It was something everyone had been waiting for: the chance to find the weak point in her ability and take her down with it. And now he knew. 

She braced herself for a laugh, a sarcastic gasp. An announcement to the atrium that _she,_ Hermione Granger, was hopeless. 

Instead, he straightened up and resumed his stance beside her looking forward. 

“You’re in luck, Granger. Because I _do._ Ambition, cunning, resourcefulness, and all that.”

Hermione’s heart stuttered. “You’ll… _You_ will help me?”

Draco gave her a bored look. “If you read my book I wouldn’t have to. But in the interest of mankind and how much I’d love the humiliate the fuck out of the Ministry, yes. I’ll help you.” 

“Malfoy--” She began to thank him, but he waved her off. 

“Why don’t you come to my office tomorrow morning? Say… 9:30? I can only assume your old boss is still… otherwise occupied and Mary Parsons is still running things? I don’t think she’d mind you stepping out for the day for this.”

Hermione nodded eagerly, her mind a jumble of thoughts and plans already. “Yes. Yes, thank you. _Really.”_

He stuck his hands into his pockets and, if Hermione wasn’t mistaken, his cheeks tinged a slight red. 

“If it helps you sleep at night just assume I have an ulterior motive.”

There was only one person in front of them in line now and the smell of herbs and coffee was almost distracting. “Should I ask what it is?”

Draco pondered her for a moment, starting from her shoes and working his way up to meet her gaze. It wasn’t judging, more… analytical. “I don’t think it would matter, honestly. You’re up.”

Hermione blinked when he pointed to the now vacant counter and the woman smiling thinly at Hermione, who was now holding up the rest of the line. 

“Hello, can I please get--”

She turned to get Draco’s order, but he was already gone. Walking to the doors with his hands in his pockets and no tea. 

When Hermione finally made it back to her desk, Dennis popped his head around the corner. “Ms. Granger, I haven’t gotten anything for you since you left.”

Hermione smiled lightly, looking at her steaming cup of coffee now creating a ring on the wood of her desk. “It’s okay, Dennis. I think it actually found me.”

* * *

Hermione considered the outfits she had laid out on her bed. The morning sun shone through the window and illuminated the various fabrics pieced together in mock outfit ideas. 

She had made sure to stock up on Dreamless Sleep the day before. There was no way she’d show up to Malfoy’s office looking any sort of disheveled. 

Although _Browne’s Corner Store_ was closer to the Ministry, Hermione made it a point to walk the few blocks to the nearest _Malfoy Medicines_ with some sadistic sense of hope that he’d be there too. She ignored the stab of disappointment when she walked through the door and there was no shock of blonde, but instead just a few families gathered around the shelves and a petite brunette reading a magazine behind the counter.

It probably didn’t mean anything, anyway.

The girl behind the counter looked up and smiled gently at the ring of the bell as Hermione entered. Hermione quickly located the potion and placed it on the counter to be rung up.

The shelves behind the girl were barren, which Hermione knew usually kept the regulated potions. 

“You’re already out of Wolfsbane?” 

“Mmhmm,” the girl hummed as she carefully packaged Hermione’s order. “Just restocked yesterday too. We’re the only store that hasn’t raised our prices and people are stocking up,” she sighed. “Poor things. Thank Merlin Mr. Malfoy has some empathy. Are you looking for some? I could add you to the waitlist.”

She began reaching for a quill and a notepad with at least a hundred other names.

“No, no,” Hermione answered quickly. “Just curious is all. Thank you.”

That was one thing, then. Malfoy hadn’t been lying to her about keeping his prices low. He even seemed sincere enough about his motives, but Hermione was still hesitant to trust him completely. He was a Slytherin through and through. Ambition, cunning, resourcefulness, and all that.

All that being manipulation and self interest.

She wondered why He would send Malfoy to her. If he knew her as well as she believed he did, wouldn’t he know about their tumultuous past? Did He trust Malfoy to help her? 

And in turn, did _she_ trust Malfoy to help her? 

She had to. Even if she didn’t trust Malfoy, she trusted Him. She had already questioned Him in the past which almost ruined everything, she couldn’t risk that again.

So with her finger to her chin she carefully mulled over the garments on her bed. Would it be too obvious to wear red? Should she wear trousers or would that offend his Pureblood sensibilities?

A slight tapping on the window turned Hermione’s attention to it and her throat constricted at the sight of a familiar owl. The oranges and pinks of the sky reflected off his dark feathers making him look less menacing than when he visited in the dead of night.

Hermione quickly unlatched the window to let the bird in, where he automatically stuck out his leg as if to say _take it._

She carefully untwined the note from the birds leg and gave him a cautious look. “You’re not going to stay around if I try to write a response, are you?” 

As if he could understand, the owl hooted loudly and swept from the room before she could shut the window and close him in. 

She gave a frustrated sigh before unraveling the note. 

_Granger, if I know you as well as I do you’ll be driving yourself crazy over what to wear. I don’t have a special outfit for you this time around, but you do. Plum skirt with the zipper on the side. Any blouse will do. Malfoy is a lucky man to be able to see you in it._

_I’d say good luck, but you don’t need it. I’ll see you soon._

Hermione bit her lip. Of course, as always, there was no signature or marker to give her any indication of who it was. Instead she looked for other clothes.

She _did_ in fact have a plum skirt with a zipper down the side. One that she had not worn in years after gaining too much weight around the hips, which the skirt accentuated. When was the last time she wore it? Where? Who was there? 

It also quite a modest outfit, in stark contrast to what He wanted her to wear to meet Theo. Perhaps Malfoy was more conservative than his friend.

But there was something else. _See you soon._ Not write, but see. Would he be there, at Malfoy’s office? Is that how he knew so much; including Malfoy’s schedule to be at the ministry? 

Would she know if she saw him? 

She rummaged through her closet until she located both the skirt and a fitted, cream jumper that she hoped would distract Malfoy from the extra roundness in her hips. 

Not that she _cared_ what he thought. 

* * *

If the Ministry was intimidating, _Malfoy Medicines_ headquarters was downright terrifying. A building made entirely of windows that were no doubt magicked to be one way and tinted giving it a sleek, black exterior. 

You were not permitted to floo into the building. Instead there was a designated apparition point near the entrance and a intent line drawn in the doorway. No doubt complex, protective magic that Malfoy had managed himself. 

Unlike the ministry, the lift ride to Malfoy’s floor was empty and quiet. No shoulders rubbing together or hushed voices jumbled together. Hermione almost wished there was some sort of other distraction to keep her from scuffing her shoes on the floor nervously.

When the bell chimed to announce her arrival, Hermione stepped out into a luxurious room filled with plush sofas and artwork decorating the walls. She let the doors to the lift close behind her while she took in the rest of the room. 

It was beautifully decorated. Even the way the chairs that were slanted seemed to be done purposely, down to the magazines fanned out on the coffee table. 

Hermione’s breath caught in her throat when she noticed Malfoy sitting at a desk at the far wall. The floor to ceiling windows illuminated his white hair, making it look like a messy halo atop his head. 

His buttoned shirt was slightly disheveled from the way he lounged in his office chair and Hermione swallowed when she focused on his forearms, which were revealed by his rolled sleeves. 

The dark mark that had once tainted his skin was now a distant memory; now just a white scar that faded into his pale skin among protruding veins. 

He was holding an open folder in his hands, his lips moving soundlessly as he read the contents. His brows were furrowed and _Merlin was he wearing glasses?_

Hermione blushed and cleared her throat gently, embarrassed to be checking out Malfoy in his place of work. He blinked dazedly up and around the room until he spotted her. 

At first his gaze dropped to the plum skirt, casually roaming the various curves with his eyes. Hermione felt the bubbles of insecurity in her stomach and nervously wiped her hands down the front of the skirt. 

“Good morning, Malfoy.”

Without losing a beat, as if he wasn’t just counting the threads in her clothing, he gave her a winning smile. “Granger. Glad you made it alright.” 

Hermione gestured to the room. “I like your office. It’s very… not at all what I expected.”

Draco laughed, removing the thick framed glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. “I do enjoy the occasional sunlight. You can’t top this view either.”

He crooked his finger in a come hither motion until Hermione was standing by the side of his desk, looking over his shoulder and out the windows. 

She gasped softly. Malfoy was known to grow and harvest his own potions supplies and below them were acres and acres of flowers, berries, herbs, and other plants that would make Neville wet his pants if he saw. They were beautiful rows of colors that stretched out around the building. 

She must have been gawking because Malfoy was giving her a small, smug smirk. 

“Sorry,” Hermione blushed, stepping away from the window. “I didn’t mean to stare.” 

She caught his gaze. His look was so intense it almost burned through her. “It’s okay, Granger. You can stare. I know I do.” 

They were silent for a beat, just sizing each other up carefully, before Hermione looked away and licked her lips. “Where should we begin?”

* * *

Malfoy was nothing if not thorough. 

After the initial awkwardness, Hermione found it almost pleasant to work alongside him. They began on opposite sides of the desk; Malfoy passing back and forth various documents about the logistics of extracting aconitum napellus. 

“It’s what makes Wolfsbane so expensive. It’s one of the rarest potion ingredients in the world and if you’re not careful in your extraction; deadly.” 

Hermione scanned the diagram of the flower. “How do you cut costs?”

Draco leaned back in his chair. “I do it myself. There’s a patch of land in Canada that’s practically untouched. I travel once a year to gather my own supplies and it lasts me until the next trip.”

“How did you teach yourself such a thing?”

“Very carefully,” he snickered, moving to undo the top button of his shirt. Hermione glanced away quickly. 

“Sorry,” he said softly, “I don’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable. I just wanted to show you something.”

Sure enough when Hermione turned back, Malfoy was pulling aside one collar of his shirt to expose a rather nasty patch of skin on his pectoral, almost like the skin was melted and then stitched back together haphazardly. Hermione gasped, a hand flying up to her mouth. 

“Ugly, isn’t it? I was too cocky my first time. I bent to grab a bundle and accidentally nicked myself on a thorn,” he began to do up his buttons again. “Some of the worst pain I’ve ever felt. I’ve not made that mistake again.”

By the time the sun disappeared, Hermione’s chair was pulled up next to Draco’s as they analysed the different budget requests from the various apothecaries. 

“See here?” Draco pointed to a line on Colton Field’s form. Hermione craned her neck to see over his shoulder, a single curl tumbling to brush against his arm. “It doesn’t take this many galleons to purchase ashwood. But fuck all if the Ministry would know that.”

“You think he pocketed the extra money?”

Draco snorted. “Granger, I _know_ he pocketed the extra money.”

Hermione hummed, reaching to take the paper from Draco’s hand. Their fingers brushed slightly during the exchange and Hermione felt Malfoy’s shoulder tense next to hers. She frowned, pulling back to give him some space as she looked over the document alone. 

“Do you think--” Draco began, but was interrupted by a loud growl from Hermione's stomach. She blushed furiously. They hadn’t taken a moment for tea, let alone a meal, in hours. And her body was protesting. Loudly. 

“Sorry, Granger,” Draco chuckled, sticking the papers back into a folder. “I tend to overlook food when I’m invested in work.”

Hermione found herself wanting to stay. “No it’s alright, we--”

He shook his head offering his hand to help her stand. “Really I must insist you get home and eat. I couldn’t live with myself if you died of starvation. What do you say, same time tomorrow?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, but accepted his hand as he pulled her up. His hand was warm and strong around hers. They stood there, their hands suspended together in midair until Draco dropped his and rubbed the back of his neck. 

“Shall I escort you downstairs?”

Hermione shook her head furiously. “No. No, I mean, _thank you_ but I’m alright. Um, hand a good night Malfoy.”

She scurried to lift without meeting Malfoy’s eyes and pressed a button to take her to a random floor. She still had other business at _Malfoy Medicines._

* * *

There was nothing that jumped out at her. Even as she passed different open offices, no one spared her a passing glance. _He_ had to be here, didn’t he? 

Hermione sighed, resigning herself to not getting her answer tonight. Perhaps if He _was_ here, he had already left. 

“Granger? Hermione Granger?” 

Hermione turned on her heel. Blaise Zabini was someone she knew in passing, never a real work exchanged between them. 

He was intelligent, that much she knew. He was in almost all her advanced classes in sixth year. He also had no aversion to muggle-borns as his other house members may have once harbored. 

He was also… quite handsome. 

Umber skin and strong eyebrows that surrounded dark, sharp eyes. He was tall. Not as broad as Malfoy, but lithe and athletic looking. A runner maybe?

“Zabini,” Hermione responded politely, trying to assess him as casually as possible. He couldn’t be… but was he? “I didn’t know you worked with Malfoy.” 

He rolled his eyes in a friendly manner. “Work _for,_ he won’t let me forget that. But yes, I’m one of his several potion brewers. But I suspect you would have found out one way or another.”

“How do you figure?”

Hermione assessed his hands. They were perhaps… smaller than he expected the handwriting to come from. But his fingers were long and elegant.

“Well you’re working on the Wolfsbane bill, aren’t you? You’ll have to see how it’s brewed sometime. I figured Malfoy would you bring you down to see the ingredient vault today, but he’s not very good at sharing.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “How do you know about that?”

Blaise raised one of his and winked. “It’s my job to know everything, Granger.”

Hermione’s stomach twisted. _Oh God, was it?_

Blaise looked behind him. “Listen, I’ve got to go. I’ve got something brewing that’s due for a stir. I’d love to catch up and chat, maybe give you some inside knowledge about Wolfsbane. What do you say? Drinks tomorrow?”

Hermione blinked slowly. He was very forward, wasn’t he? There was no smoothness or prowl to his hunt. Perhaps He and Blaise were just two sides of the same coin. 

But Hermione couldn’t say more without some research. 

“I’d like that,” she said finally. “It’s a date.”


	9. Reprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am seriously humbled by the response this has gotten. Your comments on last chapter literally made me giddy and squeal, I LOVE reading your theories. Wolfling72 and NiniJune your comments in particular made me so happy. To the couple anons I got on tumblr, I love you whoever you are! Those messages made my day. And to everyone else who commented and left kudos, you're the reason I'm still writing.

_ And you, always beside me,  
To hold me and to hide me. _

* * *

Hermione giggled as she watch Draco struggle with the new textures and flavors of his meal. 

After returning to her flat the night before, she had practically inhaled the contents of her fridge: heating up leftovers as she scarfed down a haphazardly made sandwich. 

The next morning, with a stomach that felt like a rock, she made it a point to pack herself a small meal to hold her over for the day. 

The only thing left in her pantry was a few individual cups of prepackaged, freeze dried noodles. It wasn’t much in terms of sustenance, but it would be enough. She quickly tossed it into her bag and, as a last thought, grabbed an extra one for Malfoy. 

When evening rolled around, after several hours of work, Hermione had pulled out her own cup as Malfoy eyed it suspiciously. 

“Do you have a kettle up her?”

He furrowed his brows and lazily gestured to a counter in the far corner. “You’d like some tea?” 

“No, no. I need to boil water for this,” she shook the cup gently, the loose contents of the package rolling around. 

“What is it?” he grabbed it from her outstretched hand and lifted the closed lid to his nose, sniffing it suspiciously. 

“Pot noodle,” she picked it out of his hands and waved her wand to start the kettle. “Would you like to try? I brought an extra just in case.” 

He looked surprised for a moment, as if he hadn’t expected her to consider him when packing her food. It seemed to influence his decision greatly as he nodded almost immediately. Hermione smirked.

“Chicken and mushroom or beef and tomato?”

She could tell he was impressed by the raise of his eyebrow and the poking out of his bottom lip after his first forkful. But just as quickly, he schooled his features into something much more suitable for a Malfoy eating processed food. 

He twisted his face into a dramatic grimace and Hermione, who would have once found this display insulting, laughed. 

“It’s not going to kill you, Malfoy. I lived off this stuff when I was little.”

He rolled the broth around in his mouth as if he was considering it. “Probably why you’re so tiny then,” he reached out his hand to shackle around her wrist, his hand encasing it tightly. Hermione’s heart leapt into her throat at the contact, but then he pulled away. “There’s absolutely no caloric value in this at all. If you’re hungry, I could--”

The lift bell dinged loudly, announcing the arrival of someone, which caused Draco to crane his next around to see who. 

Blaise waltzed in, his smock coat slung over one forearm. Hermione checked the dialog clock on Draco’s wall. How was it around 6:30? It didn’t feel like she’d been here for that long. 

In fact, she found herself almost… disappointed to see Blaise now. Which didn’t sit quite right; if he was He then she should feel… something, right? Some anticipation to finally meet with him. 

When she turned to Draco, he was assessing the man carefully with narrowed eyes. Not all unfriendly, but more cold than she had seen him since their first run-in. 

“Blaise? Is everything alright in the lab?”

He turned his attention from Hermione to Draco, straightening his spine. “Of course it is. I’ve come to collect Granger here, actually.” 

Hermione winced at his choice of wording. Ron had often referenced “collecting” her for dates, as if she was a child being picked up from primary. 

“Is that so?” 

Hermione turned back to look at Draco, who had yet to take his eyes off of his friend who was still standing awkwardly at the lift doors. 

It felt like they were sizing each other up; two cats circling each other with swishing tails ready to strike. And yet, while Blaise was the one standing: it was Draco who commanded the room. Lounging almost casually back in his chair, his hands folding over themselves in front of him, his eyes narrowed into silver slits. 

Hermione’s heart began to pound. Perhaps he was angry that she was leaving so soon. Maybe he had more work planned for the night that she was now interrupting. 

“If you’d rather I stay--” she began to say, but quickly cut off with a sucked in breath as he looked over at her. 

The cold, intimidating look that had been on his face as he looked at his friend melted into a more reserved expression as he met her gaze. 

“No, Granger, it’s fine. You’ve worked hard enough for one day. Same time on Monday?”

Hermione nodded quickly, a small sliver of relief curling up her spine. She began packing her belongings quickly, slinging her bag over her shoulder and meeting Blaise at the elevator. 

“Don’t worry, Draco,” Blaise laughed. “I’ll get her back to you on Monday morning in one piece.” 

Hermione smiled thinly up at him and chanced a look over to Draco, who was slowly sorting the papers they had scattered around his desk. He wasn’t looking up at them, even as Blaise spoke to him, but Hermione could see the bottom of his left eye twitch almost imperceptibly. 

She furrowed her brows, but Blaise led her into the lifts with a hand on the small of her back before she could say anything. 

As the doors closed, Draco glanced up. Hermione sucked in a breath as his eyes flickered to hers. His gaze was almost… predatory. Enough to cause Hermione to shiver and look away, letting the lift doors sever his scrutiny. 

* * *

Hermione had not been on a date since she and Ron split. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she had gone on a  _ date,  _ period. Ron had often say  _ “no matter what we do, it’s a date if we’re together.”  _

But it was different. There’s a certain formality to a  _ date _ , a sense of romance. One that was severely lacking with Ron and, unfortunately, seemed to be lacking with Blaise. 

_ Is it me?  _ Hermione thought, stirring her straw to move the ice in her drink. He was rambling on about something or another related to Hogwarts or their old schoolmates and what they were up to now. 

However, Hermione couldn’t find the will to care about the becomeings of her classmates that she hadn’t even thought of in five years. 

_ No, it’s not me.  _ She decided. 

There was just an intensity about  _ Him  _ that she didn’t feel with Blaise. The mannerisms were off.  _ He  _ would be confident, even a little mysterious perhaps. There would be no small talk with Him, because He knew  _ her.  _

And with a sinking feeling in her gut, Hermione realized she had been wrong. Blaise was nothing more than a happenstance. 

“Are you alright?” 

Hermione blinked up at him, startled by the sudden direct question. “Sorry?”

Blaise chuckled. “I thought I lost you there for a second. You’ve been extremely quiet, more than I remember you being. This… This isn’t about Draco, is it?”

Hermione’s eyes widened a fraction. “What about Malfoy?”

“I don’t mean to pry,” Blaise raised his own glass to his lips. “I just know of your… past with him. He’s not overworking you, is he? Said anything, I don’t know, out of line?”

“I-- What? No, no. He’s been very kind to me.” Hermione took a small sip of her drink to keep her hands occupied. She was still not over the initial shock of his questioning. 

Wasn’t Draco his friend? 

“I find  _ that  _ hard to believe,” Blaise snorted. “You’d be the only one. He’s a good man, at least I think, with good intentions: but he was raised by  _ Lucius Malfoy.  _ I don’t think he even  _ knows  _ how to be outwardly kind.” 

Hermione blinked down into her glass. It was mostly water now, but she felt no desire to get another and prolong this date. She couldn’t help but contemplate what Blaise said. She thought back to their interaction just an hour before in Malfoy’s office. 

The complete juxtaposition in the authoritative, menacing way he spoke to Blaise (his so called  _ friend  _ and co-worker) and the way he joked around with her beforehand. 

Hermione just smiled, reassured Blaise that she was in fact just tired from a long day, and urged him to continue with his story. 

At one point, Blaise reached a hand across the table to stroke his thumb over her knuckles. Hermione jumped, pulling her hand back to rest in her lap. Blaise, unfazed, just continued on his conversation as if nothing happened. 

As the night dragged on Hermione couldn’t help the pit of guilt and dread that rested in her stomach. If Blaise wasn’t Him, then who was?

Hermione looked over his shoulder at the other bar patrons. Would He be here? Would He be angry that she had gone out with another man? 

Hermione blushed at the shiver of sick pleasure that thought gave her. He’d rip her away from the table, away from Blaise. Shove her into the alley next to the bar where he’d make her whine and beg for forgiveness before letting her come. Edging her until she cried out who she really belonged to. Him. 

But no one was sparing her a passing glance. One lone gentleman at the bar looked promising. Dark, thick curls and strong hands wrapped around a glass of whiskey as he casually scoped out the bar. But then a woman appeared from behind him, placing a quick kiss on his cheek and taking a place next to him. 

No, He couldn’t be here. 

She ignored the disappointment that flooded her and instead focused solely on what Blaise was now talking about until he too had finished his drink and offered to walk her back to her flat. 

“It’s really alright, I can just apparate.” 

Blaise’s lip twitched. “It’s late though. And dark. I’d feel much better if I could see you to your door. I  _ did  _ promise Draco I’d get you back in one piece.”

Hermione resigned to the argument, letting Blaise fetch her jacket as they stepped out into the cool fall night. 

They walked most of the way in silence, Blaise every so often pointing out an interesting plant on the path and their magical properties. 

By the time they reached the outside of Hermione’s flat, the knot at the bottom of her stomach had twisted painfully. She wanted nothing more than to escape this painfully awkward situation that she created for herself. 

“I had a good time,” Blaise confessed, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. 

Hermione didn’t think that was true. Even if Blaise had twice the amount of fun she did that wouldn’t say much. 

They stood silently for a moment, Hermione shuffling awkwardly in place. She was worried by going to the door he would expect an invitation in as well, so she began filtering through different excuses to why she would have to enter alone. 

“I--” she began to say, but was violently cut off by a pair of lips against her still open mouth. 

“Mmph!” Hermione huffed against his mouth before pressing both hands against his chest and pushing him away, detaching his mouth from hers. 

Blaise looked… totally unaffected. She expected some sputtering, some insults thrown at her about how she had led him on or maybe even an apology for misunderstanding her signals. But there was nothing. If anything, he looked well pleased with himself. 

Hermione wiped the back of her hand over her mouth, which in another instance would be incredibly rude, but so was giving an unprompted kiss.  _ “What--” _

“Just wanted to see something,” he cut off, as if explaining why he added baking soda to vinegar just to see the results. “I had a lovely time, Granger. Well, I had  _ a _ time. Make sure you’re not late Monday or Malfoy will have my head.”

With that, he popped out of sight. Disapparating with no more than a wink in her direction and leaving her at her door, flustered and confused. 

Blaise Zabini was a strange man. A strange man and not the man she was looking for. 

She hated to admit it, as she brushed her teeth for the second time that night, that Blaise had not been  _ Him.  _ But it did pose a very interesting question, did He even want to be found by her? 

She had already created a connection with him. One that stemmed from pieces of parchment and ink and vague notes. Sloshing water through her mouth to rid herself of any lingering particles of Blaise’s kiss, Hermione wondered if He thought about her too. 

Not bothering to turn on the overhead lights to her room, Hermione slipped off her garments and rummaged her drawers for a night shirt. 

_ I wonder where He is tonight.  _

She pulled out a large shirt, one of Ron’s old quidditch practice jerseys, and fingered it in her hands. 

_ I wonder if He saw me with Blaise.  _

She pulled the shirt open to split her head through, but paused. 

_ I wonder if He sees me now.  _

The thought made her toes curl and her sternum buzz. The window above the dresser looked out over the desolate streets of Diagon Alley. If anyone were to look up now, if  _ He  _ were to look up now, they would see her just inches away from the window. Bare breasts and tight nipples from both the chill of the glass and the thrill of the unknown. 

Hermione ran two fingers over her collarbone and around the pulse thrumming in her neck, letting her gentle touch leave goosebumps over her skin. Would He touch her as gently? 

No. Hermione let her nails scratch down her chest and over one nipple, gasping at the sensation. No, He wouldn’t be gentle. She cupped one breast in her hand, rolling it through her palm roughly and whimpering softly. He would touch her like he owned her. 

The thought made Hermione moan loudly, her cunt aching to be touched. She rocked her hips forward, letting her cloth covered clit meet the dull edge of the dresser. 

She whimpered loudly, her palm coming down to steady herself on the surface. 

She had never been one for submission. With Ron, she had always been the aggressor of the two, unwilling to give up control. Unwilling to be at the mercy of someone else, unwilling to show her weakness even in her most primal state. 

But He knew her weaknesses. He knew and instead of having her at his mercy, he took control by having  _ her  _ take control. 

It wouldn’t be about control or mercy or weakness with Him. It would be about power. Power that she would give to him, power that he would give back. 

Hermione breathed out a shuddering sigh and dropped her hand from her chest to trail along her stomach. Would he care that she was a little more round here? She dug her fingers into the soft flesh of her hips and closed her eyes. No. No, he would use it. Bite into the flesh like her hand was doing now and mark her there, where only he would see. 

Her eyes fluttered open again, looking out onto the street. She imagined him there, a faceless broad figure standing on the cobblestone looking up at her. The tips of her fingers trailed along the top of her panty line before finally dipping her fingers in to swipe against the hard, aching bud. 

Her lips parted on an exhale and her eyes closed tightly, her hips jerking forward and hitting the hand stroking her against the dresser. It caused her finger tips to press harder against her clit and Hermione moaned at the almost painful pleasure it created. 

She began rutting into her hand; pretending He was watching her, pretending he was behind her, surrounding her, that this was  _ His  _ hand forcing pleasure from her. 

She was becoming delirious. The hand on top of the dresser keeping her steady shook, her nails dug crescent shapes into the wood. 

The figure in her mind began to change. Short, curly blonde hair. Long, dark hair. Blue eyes, green eyes, brown eyes. The smell of mint. Parchment. Ink. Blonde hair, grey eyes. 

Grey eyes, grey eyes, grey eyes. 

She wanted to scream, but there was nothing. There was no name to call out. Her lips formed nothing but a silent scream. 

Her arm finally went limp, her chest falling to the dresser as she tried to catch her breath. Shirt forgotten, she crawled under the covers and pulled a pillow to her chest. Lulled to sleep by the thought that He was out there, watching over her. In the shadows, protecting her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had an extra hard time writing this chapter, but hope you all enjoyed it! 
> 
> (Go vote on my tumblr for the next two fics I’ll be writing! dirty-mudblood.tumblr.com)
> 
> Last note, but I've done quite a few fests this month for the holidays so go check those out too if you're looking for something short to read!


	10. Masquerade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special shoutout this week to icouldbuild-a-castle on tumblr who sent me just the sweetest message. I still can't get over it and I seriously do not deserve how wonderful and supportive you all are.

_Masquerade!_   
_Run and hide -_   
_But a face will_   
_Still pursue you!_

* * *

Malfoy was in a mood. An exceptionally bad one. 

From the moment Hermione arrived and stepped off the lift into his loft office, it was quite apparent that his goal for the day was to make it as impossible for Hermione to get any work done as possible. He was one entire ball of rolling eyes, huffs, and snide comments. 

Hermione’s fist had gradually tightened around the quill as the minutes ticked by. Every dismissal of her ideas had put the writing utensil in jeopardy of snapping. She was writing notes furiously as he lounged casually in his chair, twirling his wand through his fingers. 

He peeked over her shoulder at her paper. “No, no. That won’t do, Granger.”

The quill was holding on for dear life in her white knuckles. She reread her notes carefully. 

“What’s wrong with this?” Hermione huffed indignantly. 

Draco snatched the parchment from the table and held it out in front of him as if reading an unfolded newspaper. 

“T _ his reversal of the wolfsbane protection law has been a gross misuse of power and negligence on the part of the Ministry board and apothecary union,”  _ he read aloud, quirking an eyebrow over the top of the page at her. “You’re not one for flattery, are you?”

Hermione snatched the paper back, smoothing out the edges with a sneer on her face. “I don’t feel the need to flatter those who don’t deserve flattery, Malfoy. That’s a Slytherin trait.”

Draco tutted, crossing his hands and folding them over his chest. “See,  _ that’s  _ your problem. Getting what you want through means beyond honesty and integrity is not exclusively Slytherin.”

Hermione snorted. 

“I’m not suggesting threatening bodily harm. I’m saying that a little charm, a little schmoozing goes a long way.  _ Especially  _ with men like Poole and the other self-righteous bastards-- excuse my language, Granger-- on the board. Do you think they’d even entertain an appeal when it's based on insults to their character?”

Hermione tucked her bottom lip between her teeth, her tail tucking between her legs. He was right, of course. It was why she accepted his help in the first place. She was one for direct attack. Strategy built on action. 

Malfoy knew the dance. Fluid steps and distracting footwork that got him exactly what he wanted while making his dance partner think they’ve gotten what they want too. 

“So I have to kiss their arse is what you’re saying?”

“You could call it that,” he shrugged. “Or you could call it giving a little to take a lot. Here.” 

He stood suddenly, gesturing for her to do the same. With furrowed brows she complied, watching as he directed her to take his seat behind the desk. She did so, the wide-back leather chair that seemed to barely accommodate his shoulders and tall stature seemed to completely envelope her. 

Draco stood in front of the desk, his palms down on the surface in a wide stance as he leaned forward. “We meet with the board in three weeks time. If you want to be ready, if you want them to even entertain us, you have to learn to speak their language. I’m going to reenter the room and when I do, I want you to pretend I’m a member of the board.”

“Wait, but--” Hermione began to say, but he was already gone. She sighed, crossing her legs nervously in front of her. 

A knock sounded and Hermione rolled her eyes. “Come in?” 

Draco sauntered back into the office area, no longer huffing or sneering, but instead the personification of a confident, smug businessman. Hermione crossed her legs a little tighter as he approached her desk. 

“Hermione Granger,” he purred, “It’s so nice to meet you.”

Her mouth was suddenly too dry from the sound of her given name rolling from his lips. He extended his hand to her and she took it, hoping he didn’t notice how sweaty her palms had become.

“It’s nice to meet you, er, Mr. Malfoy.”

Draco’s eyes fluttered as he rolled them almost imperceptibly. “May I sit?”

“Please do,” Hermione gestured to the empty spot she had vacated. 

Draco sat and mimicked her stance, crossing his leg over his knee. Hermione almost blushed as her eyes flickered down to the way his trousers pulled tightly across his thighs. 

“I--” she began to speak, but was interrupted. 

“No, let them speak first. Tell yourself that you’re making time for  _ them,  _ not the other way around.”

Hermione nodded, licking her lips nervously and trying to take mental notes. 

“So, Ms. Granger,” he returned to his character, “Hermione. May I call you Hermione?”

She wished he wouldn’t. It sounded like a sin coming from his tongue. 

She licked her lips again. “Of course. Is there something I can help you with today, Mr. Malfoy?”

Draco shook his head. “No, don’t offer yourself up like that. Try again.”

“What brings you here today, Mr. Malfoy?”

He nodded, the corner of his lips twitching. “Better. Much better. Hermione, I heard you’ve been working to overturn our decision to repeal the wolfsbane protection act. I’ve come to inquire as to why.” 

Hermione folded her sweaty hands together. “While I believe your intentions for the overturn were good--”

“They know you’re not stupid, Granger. Don’t insult them.”

Hermione clenched her jaw, grinding down on her teeth and narrowing her eyes at the man in front of her. “You’re right. I don’t pretend to think I know what your intentions were. But I know what the outcome has been. And while you’re finding some sort of lucrative success as a result, I assure you that it will run out as the public begins to catch on to what the board has done.” 

One of Draco’s eyebrows twitched. “And how would they find out such a thing, Hermione?”

Heart pounding in her ears, Hermione leaned further across the desk, her shoulders back and her chin high. “I think you’ll come to find I have connections of my own, Mr. Malfoy. And I have no qualms about using them. I, however, have no interest in the inevitable destruction of the Ministry’s reputation if such information  _ were  _ to be made public. Therefore I’m open to finding a suitable compromise that is beneficial for the both of us.” 

Leaning back against the chair, Hermione began to pretend to sort through loose papers. “Of course if that doesn’t sound agreeable, we can return to this conversation at a later time. Though you’ll find that the terms will be less favorable for you.”

Hermione peeked up from the stack of papers, prepared to find Draco’s sneering face or be greeted with a dramatic eye roll. 

Instead her breath caught when she met his stare. They were piercing and burning right through her, sparkling delightedly as his lips twisted into a satisfied smirk. “Good, Granger.”

Hermione let out a shuddering sigh, a shiver moving through every nerve in spine. 

Draco cleared his throat. “I see, I’ll have to discuss amongst the board and get back to you.”

Hermione licked her lips once more as he stood from the chair and she followed his lead until they were standing, facing each other on opposite sides of the desk. 

Draco offered his hand across the table which Hermione could see from her peripheral, unable to look away from his suffocating stare. “It was a  _ pleasure _ to meet you, Hermione.”

She slowly took his extended hand. This time there was no thought of her sweaty palms, only the rapid pulse in her wrist and the feeling of his warm, strong hand bound around hers. 

They shook once, but Draco did not immediately release his hold. He looked just as entranced as she felt. His lips parted slightly and his adam's apple bobbing just so. 

He looked away suddenly, breaking their contact and subsequently severing the moment, which felt like ice sliding down her back. It was only then that Hermione realized that they had been leaning towards each other, meeting almost halfway across the desk. 

She watched carefully as Draco’s lips thinned and he flexed, then curled the hand that had been holding hers into a fist. Hermione trailed her eyes from his hand to his face, trying to decipher the sudden shift in mood. 

He cleared his throat, pressing his fist against his mouth. “That was good, Granger. Very good. Keep this up and you won’t even need me soon.” 

Hermione swallowed. She opened her mouth to thank him or perhaps to ask why he had pulled away, but instead she returned his thin smile and nodded. 

They resumed their work after that. Hermione still taking detailed notes, her quill now held loosely in her grip, and Draco twirling his wand distractedly. They sat in silence, which in itself was much too loud between them. 

“How was your date with Blaise?” 

Hermione started, a splotch of ink absorbing into the parchment and ruining the end of her sentence. Her face twisted in confusion, “Wha- Sorry?”

“Blaise,” he repeated, watching his wand move through his long fingers instead of meeting her eye. His jaw was flexing as he spoke. “You went out this past weekend, didn’t you?”

“We did,” Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. 

“I’m just wondering how it went. If it’s something I should be concerned about with you two working closely.” 

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek. Of course Malfoy would be concerned about how Hermione’s affairs would interfere with his work. 

“You have nothing to worry about, Malfoy. I don’t think we’ll be seeing each other again.”

He did look at her then, his jaw relaxing slightly and his wand pausing in his grip. “How’s that?”

Hermione shrugged and returned to her work, suddenly feeling uncomfortable under his gaze. “I just didn’t work out. He… I suppose he wasn’t who I was looking for.” 

She peeked out of the corner of her eye to watch his face. But he was not looking at her anymore. Instead, for the first time all day, he looked content. 

* * *

“So how’s working with Malfoy?”

Hermione tucked her knees under her chin as she watched Ginny’s face contour with the fire embers. She shrugged, though she knew Ginny would not be able to see it.

“It’s alright, I suppose. He’s still Malfoy. Pompous, arrogant, smug--”

“Handsome--” Ginny chimed in.

Hermione huffed. “Ginny.” 

“What? It’s undeniable. My husband is the savior of the free wizarding world and I would--”

“Please refrain,” Hermione groaned, covering her ears with her hands. “There’s only so much I want to know about you.”

Ginny laughed at her friend’s obvious discomfort. “I’m only joking. Sort of. But really, you have to admit he’s quite the catch.” 

She was pressing. Hermione knew that since she had disclosed to her friend about  _ Him  _ that Ginny was worried: both for Hermione’s sanity and her future. She had always known Ginny had hoped for her to join the family officially through Ron. It seemed Ginny was now more concerned that Hermione had given all of that up for a faceless stranger. 

“You know I’m not looking for anyone right now.”

“Right, right. Because of  _ Him?” _

“No,” Hermione replied quickly. “I’m just busy is all. There’s only but a few weeks until Malfoy and I meet with the board. And then I believe Parson’s will be giving me Burk’s old position if we’re successful, so I’ll be too occupied settling into the new job. It’s just not the right time.”

Ginny hummed. “Whatever you say, Hermione, I’m just worried about you. We all are.” 

“We?” Hermione lifted her head from her knees.   
“Yes, all of us. We’ve barely heard from you since your split with Ron. You’ve not come by to meet James properly. You go from your flat to work to Malfoy’s office with no deviation. It’s unhealthy.”

Hermione cringed, a tidal wave of guilt sweeping her up. 

“I’ve been busy.” she responded meekly. 

Ginny sighed defeatedly. “I know. I know, Hermione. We just miss you. James would like to know his Godmother as well.” 

One corner of Hermione’s lips turned up. “I miss you too. When everything settles down I promise to--”

She was interrupted by a tap on her window. 

“Someone sending you an owl this late?” 

Hermione turned to look at the window, where two familiar yellow eyes flashed back at her. 

“Ginny, I’ve got to go.”

She heard her friend gasp. “It’s  _ Him  _ isn’t it?”

“Ginny--”

“You’ve been corresponding and you haven’t told me?”

Hermione sighed, rubbing her forehead. “No, the letters only go one way. Okay? I’ve got to go.”

“But--” 

Hermione severed the fire-call and stood, quickly unlatching her window and letting the bird in. It nippled at her fingers playfully. 

“Hello, handsome,” she cooed, offering a small treat. “I wish I knew what to call you.”

The owl hooted softly and shook his leg against her outstretched hand. Hermione’s eyes widened as she spotted a note, of course, but also a small velvet pouch attached to the bird’s leg. 

“What’s this?” she whispered, untying the package from the owl’s leg. It hooted in reply before taking off out of the window again. Hermione watched it disappear into the dark horizon before unfolding the note. 

_ Granger,  _

_ I fear I’ve let you misinterpret my intentions. I’m not a giving or a selfless man. Helping you is to help myself get closer to you. I think of you as mine and I think of this project as ours. When I reveal myself to you, and I will, it will be on better terms.  _

_ Until then, I offer you this. Inside this satchel is a necklace that has been in my family long before I was born. It’s one of the oldest pieces of magic owned by a civilian, I’m sure the prospect will excite you. The clasp will close once you put it around your neck, but it will not open until I remove it myself.  _

_ I, being as selfish and prideful as I am, am asking you to wear this so that I will know you’ve interpreted and feel the same way. I will understand if you decide not to and I will not let it impact my aid to you.  _

_ Yours, as you are mine.  _

Hermione pressed a hand to her chest, her heart feeling as if it was stretching and ready to burst out of her throat. 

With shaking hands she dumped the contents of the pouch into her hand. Inside was a thin gold chain. Hermione ran her fingers over the medallion that hung from it, an image of a woman etched into the material. 

It was Ate, the Greek goddess of obsession, infatuation, and mischief. In the play  _ The Liberation Bearers  _ by Aeschylus she avenges evil deeds and inflicts just punishments upon the offenders and their posterity. 

Hermione clenched the jewelry in her first tightly. There was no question. 

Without a second thought, she wound the necklace around her throat and gasped as she felt the gold wind together from both ends to create one long chain. She tugged on it gently. He was right, there was no taking this off by herself. 

The thought made a warm rush spread through her belly and into her chest. Before closing her window she looked back over the horizon, imaging  _ Him  _ somewhere over the hills waiting for her. 

_ Yours, as you are mine.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In other news I have a TikTok dedicated to dramione fanfiction! It's @dirtymudblood of course. I also created a facebook page you can add me on if you want to chat or get updates on fandom life @Sara DM
> 
> Hope you all had a wonderful (and safe!) holiday <3


	11. Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LadyScribbles made me this most incredible art for Overture <3 thank you to her and thank you to everyone reading/commenting/kudoing for helping me get this far! We're almost at the end...

__

_Wishing you were_   
_Somehow here again_   
_Wishing you were_   
_Somehow near_   
_Sometimes it seemed_   
_If I just dreamed_   
_Somehow you would_   
_Be here_

* * *

The line for _Borgin and Burkes_ was unusually long for a Wednesday afternoon. Hermione tapped her foot impatiently on the cobblestone, watching the line move inch by inch. She pushed up her sleeve to check her wristwatch. 12:45. She only had another 15 minutes before she was expected back to Malfoy’s office and she was hoping to pick up a few supplementary research pieces on wolfsbane before returning. 

“Hermione?” she heard a familiar voice from behind her. 

Startled, she dropped her wrist and turned her shoulders to find Mrs.Parsons smiling broadly with a few shopping bags in each hand. 

“Mary!” Hermione returned her smile, “What are you doing here?”

The woman shook the bags pointedly, “Just picking up a few things here and there, are you not at Malfoy Apothecaries today?”

Hermione bobbed her head enthusiastically, looking over her shoulder at the slowly dwindling line. “I am actually, I’m trying to pick up a few books to go over before we submit our final documents to the board. We have an appearance date at the end of November, just before the full moon.”

Mary hummed. “I have to say, I was surprised when I heard that you’d be working with Draco Malfoy on this project.”

“How so?”

“Well, I know you’ve had a tumultuous past,” Hermione suppressed a snort, “and I had no idea you two were even in contact. It was a pleasant surprise, you two have such brilliant minds. I--”

“Sorry,” Hermione cut off, her brows furrowing. “Do you… Do you two know each other?”

Mary laughed. “Oh _yes._ I was great friends with his mother in Hogwarts. We reconnected in the past few years, before well…” she gave Hermione a small, sad smile. “Anyway, I still see Draco for tea from time to time.”   
“Do you?”

“Oh yes,” Mary gushed, “He has been so wonderful through all this. Giving John and I extra vials of wolfsbane, helping with this law overturn. Don’t you think?”

Hermione licked her lips thoughtfully. Who was this new Draco Malfoy everyone seemed to know? Harry and Ginny, now Mary, raving about his charm and generosity. Was she missing something? Did all these people forget this is _Malfoy_ and everything he does is in his _own_ self interest?

“Yes,” Hermione answered instead, giving Mary a thin smile. “Yes, he’s been… wonderful.”

Mary returned her smile, although hers was genuine. “Anyway, between the two of you I just _know_ the board, and the Ministry no less, will have to rethink their position…”

Mary continued in her ramblings, making various points about the restructuring of the law as Hermione hummed and nodded at all. Meanwhile, Mary’s voice was drowned out by her own rapid thoughts. 

Malfoy and Mary? Why had he never mentioned it? Did Mary ask him to offer his help? No, she seemed genuinely surprised by their collaboration. Even so, was Malfoy getting something in return from Mary for his aid? Perhaps unlimited restrictions on his ingredient extraction or a few galleons “conveniently” cut from his apothecary licence fee each year?

Mary stopped suddenly, giving Hermione a puzzled look. Hermione’s heart quickened, had she missed something important while lost in her thoughts?

“Sorry?”

“Your necklace…”

Hermione’s hand flew to her chest, fingering the pendant. “My necklace?”  
Mary nodded slowly. “I can’t place it. It looks so familiar… like…” she seemed deep in thought, as if trying to peruse each individual file of her memory. She seemed to shake herself from her thoughts, offering Hermione a bright smile. “Deja vu, I suppose. I should be off anyhow, but it was so lovely to run into you. Perhaps the next time we see each other will be to celebrate, hm?” 

“Absolutely. Please send my best to John as well.”

After watching Mary’s back depart into the crowd, Hermione let go of the pendant and checked her watch again. 1:05. She sighed. 

The line had finally cleared itself and she _was_ already late, might as well get what she came for. 

Quickly grabbing a, seemingly ridiculous to anyone but herself, large stack of books, she made her way to the register. While the cashier began to ring her up, Hermione spotted another familiar face among the featured books on the counter. 

Malfoy’s book, _The Act of Business: Playing the Part._ His familiar, chiseled face with a perfectly pressed suit and quaffed hair. He had told her to read it all those months ago and she had declined.

“Anything else for you today, miss?”

Hermione blinked back at the cashier who was waiting expectantly. 

“I’ll take one of those too, please.” 

* * *

  
“Do you _ever_ take your own notes?” 

Hermione was hunched over the page, interrupting as Malfoy said “take this down” for what seemed like the millionth time that day. 

He tapped his finger against his chin. “I’m supplying the money, the knowledge, the connections, and the chair you’re sitting in. The least you could do is jot down some notes.”

Hermione grumbled. _Wonderful_ her left arsecheek. 

“Now as I was saying: we have our ethos. I on the apothecary front and you as a Ministry employee-- make sure you’re getting this, Granger-- with an extensive research of magical creatures. Pathos is easy. We’ll point out that families with little werechildren can’t afford such a staggering cost every month. But what about our _logos?_ What makes this a _logical_ decision for them?”

“...logical...decision… for them…” Hermione scribbled furiously.

“That was a question for you, not a note.”

“Oh,” Hermione blushed, setting the quill down next to the parchment. “Well, I think the best question is really why would this _not_ be a logical decision for them? And tackle that answer.”

“Hmm. How so?”

“Well for instance, the obvious answer is money. Each apothecary is gaining thousands more galleons a month by not having free wolfsbane. The question isn’t why it would be _better_ to reinstate the law, it’s why it’s _logical._ Right?”

Draco sucked his cheek into his mouth. “Right…”

“Right. It’s not _better_ to lose money by making something free, but it’s _logical_ if it impacts your business in other ways. Say, if they were to lose customers because they’re greedy arseholes? We already know the Prophet may not go for it, but _they_ don’t have to know that.”

Malfoy barked out a laugh, but covered his mouth quickly with his fist. Hermione tried to hide her small, pleased smile. 

He quirked an eyebrow, “You want to threaten them?”

“I want to _incentivize_ them,” Hermione said primly. “By _hinting_ that whatever money they hushed the Prophet with is no match for a Malfoy vault.” 

Malfoy sighed dramatically. “I see. It’s all about my money with you.” 

“Oh Malfoy, it’s more than that,” she cooed, a smirk twitching at her lip. “You also have the knowledge, the connections, and the chair I’m sitting in.”

They both laughed, an eye-crinkling-shoulder-shaking kind of laugh. As their humor subsided, Hermione took a long look at the man in front of her. Perhaps she was wrong about him. Perhaps Harry and Ginny and Mary saw something she had refused herself to see. 

She tilted her head slightly. He was in quite a good mood today, ever since she walked into the office. He was scowling at his desk, biting his thumb while he mulled something in front of him. 

She had of course arrived nearly a half an hour late from the bookstore and he was visibly annoyed by her tardiness. 

“You’re late,” He had stated plainly, not looking up from his desk. 

“I know, I know,” Hermione had groaned, beginning to pull off her jacket and scarf. “I went to the store to get _these_ and then the line was so long and I saw Mrs. Parsons, who by the way you never told me-- What?”

He had finally looked up, probably to cut off her ramblings, but his face became impassive and blank as he trailed his eyes down from her face to her neck. His eyes flashed for a moment before swiftly meeting hers again. 

“What? Have I got something on me?” Hermione looked down at the front of her sweater collar, which was still crisp and white as this morning. 

“No, I…” he shook his head, his eyes a molten silver as they pierced right through her. “I just lost track of my thoughts I suppose. Forgive me. Are you ready to start?”

Since then he had been completely amicable. Joking in a way where she felt as if she was part of it, not the butt of it. Completely… _wonderful._

Hermione cleared her throat and looked away, suddenly breaking the contact. “Anyways, that might work for the apothecary owners, save for Jackie Poole of course, but we still have to consider the Ministry’s perspective. They have no obligation to any customers.” “Fair point. Public outcry is still a good chip to play though.” 

“Not as good as a negligence suit on the behalf of the were-community. They can use all the money they’ve been saving on funding costs for the settlement.”

Draco leaned back in this chair, his hands folded over his chest and his eyes twinkling with mischief. “You plead a good case, Ms. Granger. I daresay I created a monster.”

Hermione gave a shy smile, tucking a curl behind her ear. “I learned from the best. However I couldn’t have gotten this far without you, Malfoy.”

He hummed and shook his head. “That’s where you’re wrong, Granger. Any of this… All of this, in fact, you could do alone. You’re smart, you’re empathic, you’re fierce.”

He laughed. “I mean, it’s like you forget you’re _Hermione Granger._ Anything that I’ve done is just leading you in the direction you need, then _you_ conquer it. It’s not about your ability, it’s about your confidence,” he sobered for a moment, giving her a pointed look though Hermione wasn’t entirely certain what it was point _to._ “Granger, you don’t _need_ me around. _I_ need _you_ around.”

It was then, just in an instant. Like finding the first matching pieces of a puzzle. Not even entirely sure what the picture will be, but building the framework. 

_You’re wrong,_ she wanted to say, _I do need you._

But was it really Malfoy she was talking about? Or was it _Him?_ And when had the lines that divided them blur so much? 

“Thank you,” she responded quietly instead. “For believing in me. I… You’ve been… wonderful. Really wonderful.”

He smiled, something pleased and boyish that she’d never seen before. It was so absolutely becoming Hermione felt her breath hitch and her heart squeeze. She looked down at her hands folded in her lap.

“Granger, one more thing?”

“Hm?”

“You should take all that down.”

* * *

It was nearly midnight by the time Hermione had fallen into bed. She and Malfoy had wrapped up work a little early and she had finally decided to visit Harry, Ginny, and baby James. 

“Sorry to stop over unexpectedly--” she said when Ginny opened the door and squealed at the sight of her friend.

“Nonsense, nonsense! I’ve been _dying_ to get you over here,” Ginny pulled her by the hand into the foyer and shut the door behind them. 

Hermione looked around the home, noting the many differences. How long had it really been since she visited 12 Grimmauld Place? The wallpaper had been stripped away and replaced with dusty blue paint, a splattering of toys pushed to one corner, a new family portrait of the Potters’ on the stairway wall. 

“Come,” Ginny had urged. “Harry is at work tonight but James and I would love the company.”

James was the spitting image of his father with the complexion of a Wealsey.

“Ginny, his _hair.”_ Hermione gasped as she ran a few fingers through the baby’s tossel of hair. 

“Believe me, I know,” Ginny snorted. “I _still_ have heartburn.”

They had spent hours cooing over James, talking about Ginny’s hopeful return to work, Hermione’s case with Malfoy, and _Him._ Ginny had voiced her worried again, especially when Hermione pointed to the necklace that was now interlocked around her neck permanently. 

“It’s not like you to do something so rash,” Ginny had tutted. 

“No, it’s not. And that’s why I know it was the right choice.”

James had fallen asleep in Hermione’s arms, his little mouth parted gentle with the huffs of sleep. She kissed his forehead, handed him off to his mummy, and bid her farewell. 

And now, finally in bed, her body was exhausted but her mind was racing. There was something missing. She had gone through each piece of the puzzle several times, trying to match the shapes or the colors of them. But no pieces were fitting together. 

Sighing, she turned to grab a book from her new stack to read and tire her mind. When she pulled it to her, she realized she had grabbed Malfoy’s. Considering it for a moment while gnawing on her bottom lip, she turned to the index page.

_Act 1: Dressing for Your Role_

_Act 2: Working Backstage, the Importance of Finances_

_Act 3: Method Acting, Becoming the Main Character_

_Act 4: The Ethics of Unethical Business_

Hermione hummed, flipping through the pages. 

_“... in business, you don’t dress for yourself, but for your goal. If your target investor’s favorite color is red, invest in a red tie or…”_

Hermione sighed, her eyes drifting close. 

_“... contrary to popular belief, both money and a regard for human life can both be synonymous motivators. Oftentimes one impacts the other in…”_

Her eyelashes fluttered softly, the book dropping on to her chest as she fell into a deep slumber.


	12. The Point of No Return

_That our passions may fuse and merge  
In your mind you've already succumbed to me  
Dropped all defenses, completely succumbed to me  
Now you are here with me, no second thoughts  
You've decided, decided _

* * *

_Strong arms._

_Thick forearm that presses under her chin, just enough pressure on her throat to make her dizzy._

_“Look at me.”_

_She’s trying. She’s trying, but she can’t. Even though he’s just above her, his breath hot across her face as he pins her down, she can’t see him._

_“Look at me.”_

_She tries to reach for him, but she finds her hands bound above her. She tugs on her bindings, secure, and she thinks maybe she should be afraid. Completely at his mercy with his arm pressing tightly against her throat. But she knows him. She trusts him._

_“Look at me, Granger.”_

_A knee between her thighs pushes them apart and he settles between them. It’s only then that she realizes she’s completely bare, his trouser-clad knee against her cunt._

_“Can’t you see me? I’m right in front of you,” his voice rumbles in his chest, dark and promising, and she’s aching, aching, aching. “Can’t you feel me?”_

_She can, barely a whisper of a touch between her legs. He presses his knee harder against her centre at the same time that his forearm comes down harder on her neck. He’s suffocating her, both physically and metaphorically. It’s too much and it’s not enough._

_“My perfect girl.”_

_She’s dizzy. The lack of oxygen only serves to intensify the pulsing need between her legs as she ruts and fucks against his knee. Her hands claw at each other, her toes curl._

_“My obedient girl. Look at me.”_

_Blonde hair, a clad forearm under her chin, grey eyes with heavy lids as he watches her fall apart without even touching her, a familiar smirk and sharp, pointed features--_

Hermione sat up a gasp, clutching her hand to her chest to soothe her heart that was beating violently in her chest. She touched her throat, gasping for the air that she was deprived of in her dream. 

Or at least, from what she remembers. 

Each morning for the past several weeks she’d wake up covered in sweat, tangled in her sheets, with an aching cunt. Her dreams tormented her night after night, yet she could never remember them. 

Hermione glanced at the clock on her bedside table. 5:05. She sighed, she had only just gotten to sleep a few hours ago after tossing and turning restlessly until finally resting on her side to gaze out the window at the full white orb in the sky. 

My moon is the highest at midnight and Hermione counted each agonizing second, inch by inch as the full moon crept higher. Taunting her. Forced to imagine the carnage that would no doubt meet them in the morning. 

And now, just hours later, the sky had turned a vibrant orange to signify the new day as the moon fell below the horizon. Hermione rubbed her face, her eyes feeling heavy but her body still buzzing in the aftermath of her dreams. 

After a long, cold shower she decided it would be best to get an early start on the day and apparated to Malfoy’s office. Of course he was already there, she rolled her eyes at the sight of Malfoy with his sleeves rolled up casually, his glasses perched down his nose as he read through the paper. Silently, she snatched the Quibbler out of his hands. 

“Rude,” he scoffed. “I wasn’t done with that.”

But he folded his arms, letting her flip through the pages hurriedly scanning each one. She hummed, ignoring his displeasure. “I don’t see anything about last night.”

“Page six, second column. Merlin, did you sleep at all last night? You look like death.”

Hermione quickly turned to the designated page, bracing herself for whatever she’d find. 

She sighed in relief. A small article, barely 20 sentences, outlined a single instance of a werechild and his parents injuries after the child turned. It wasn’t amazing, especially for that poor family, but not nearly the destruction she had expected. 

“How can that be? Last month was complete chaos. What--”

She looked up at Malfoy, who didn’t share her surprise. “I made sure we were fully stocked to supplement for the other apothecaries,” he shrugged, as if it was the most casual thing in the world. “But that means we’ve used all our aconite for next month as well. Not only will I have to make another trip to gather more, but we must be successful at the trial on Monday.”

Hermione clutched the magazine in her hand tighter. Malfoy. Malfoy had used his entire supply of aconite, rare and expensive aconite, to ensure everyone who needed wolfsbane would get it. Malfoy. 

“Malfoy, that’s…” she gripped the pages a little tighter. “Wonderful.”

He shrugged again, not seeming to think much of the huge financial sacrifice he had made for the sake of… what?

The past few weeks had brought changes between them as well. She began to come to the office early, earlier than needed really. He had learned and adapted to her caffeine schedule: taking it with lots of cream in the morning and black in the afternoon. 

She would stay late as well. They would end up being the last two left in the office each night, ending with Hermione walking through dimly lit hallways and encountering locked doors on her way out. 

It was easy to explain away the long hours: they were so close to their court appearance, they still had so much work to do, this needed to be perfect. But beyond that, between the hundreds of pages of notes and cups of coffee, they found themselves enjoying each other's company. 

She would bring breakfast, something light and not messy to start their workday right away. Malfoy had found a love for cups of muggle ramen noodles, which Hermione happily supplied him with for their lunches, laughing at the inelegant way he slurped at the noodles. So very unMalfoy. 

More than once she had even joined him for dinner, takeout containers spread out over his desk:

_“Keep your chopsticks on your own plate, Granger,” he tutted, using his own wooden eating utensils to shoo her wandering hand away. “I told you to get the chicken and you didn’t. It’s the price you pay.”_

_Hermione groaned, picking at the steamed vegetables in front of her. “Please? Just a piece. I’ll give you one of my spring rolls as a trade.”_

_He hummed, assessing his own food. Hermione licked her lips lightly, that chicken looked heavenly. So much better than place veggies. What was she thinking?_

_“Alright. A piece. And you can keep your spring roll,” Hermione grinned, moving her chopsticks over his plate, where he caught them with his. “However, in exchange, I want you say that I was right.”_

_Hermione groaned. “Honestly, Malfoy. Nothing is worth that, not even that… delectable looking chicken.”_

_“Suit yourself then.”_

_He popped a piece of chicken into his mouth, groaning loudly and dramatically as he chewed. The sound of which seemed to reverberate through her chest and into her lower belly, making it clench. Her cheeks burned._

_“Fine, fine. You were right, Malfoy. I should have gotten the chicken.”_

_He grinned triumphantly, pushing his plate towards her. “Good girl, Granger. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”_

_She knew he was mocking her, but that didn’t stop the almost violent tug of her navel and aching of her cunt at his praise. She grabbed a piece quickly and popped it in her own mouth to distract herself._

_And distract it did. It was wonderful. Sweet and spicy and perfectly juicy. She closed her eyes as she chewed, letting the glaze settle over her tongue and absorb each flavor note._

_When she opened her eyes, Malfoy was staring intently at her and ignoring his own food. His eyes were blazing, a look she had seen before. The look he had given her before she had left his office with Blaise: as if she was prey. Sweet, spicy, juicy prey._

_She cleared her throat, averting her eyes to her own dish and picking apart a piece of broccoli._

_“Actually, Granger,” he started and Hermione held her breath, “I’ll take that spring roll.”_

“I figure we should take today to get you prepped for any questions the board may have. If they ask you directly, I won’t be of any help.”

Hermione crossed her arms and huffed. “I’ve been taking all your notes for the past month, Malfoy, I’m perfectly prepared.”

“On the financial end maybe. On the theological end, yes. But you know next to nothing about wolfsbane. And how can you head a program about something you know little about?” He gave her a pointed look as if saying, you can’t argue with this. And she couldn’t. 

“Alright,” she sighed. “So, what? Will you be lecturing me?”

He stood, unfolding himself from his chair and standing tall in front of her. “Actually, I think a demonstration would be better. We’ll be traveling down to the labs.”

* * *

Blaise’s white coat was in stark contrast to those around him who all had some stains or splatters on their fronts. To Hermione, it was clear that the clean coat came from years of experience. A steady hand, perfect measurements, consistent stirring. A true potions master. 

“Darling, how nice of you to visit me at work. You too, Granger.”

Hermione felt as Malfoy’s arms raised on a long intake of breath that ended with a sigh. “Blaise. You remember how I said I’d bring Granger down to watch wolfsbane be brewed?”

“Intimately,” Blaise smirked, but then refocused his attention innocently to the ingredients before him. 

Hermione blushed at his word choice and snuck a glance up at Malfoy’s face to see if he was perhaps judging her. He knew she went on a date with Blaise, of course, but he had no idea of the specifics. What if he--

But his face was set in a blank, cold stare. His eyes, now usually playful, were cold and calculating as he stared ahead. Hermione shivered slightly at the dark expression and Malfoy, having felt it being pressed so close to her in the doorway, turned his attention to her. 

Hermione’s breath caught. In the first few moments of his attention on her, he looked vicious. Like he was a wolf and she was the last piece of meat in the middle of a hungry pack. A tightening feeling in her throat, as if it was being pressed on. As if his look was suffocating her. 

“Will you be joining us, then?” Blaise’s voice chimed in innocently, breaking whatever trance Malfoy’s stare was putting her under. He looked away quickly, but Hermione kept her eyes up to him, watching as he blinked dazedly at his friend.

“Pardon?”

“I asked if you’ll be joining us for the demonstration. I know how busy you are,” Blaise fluttered his lashes innocently, almost mockingly. “We wouldn’t want to keep you, would we Granger?”

Hermione licked her lips. “No, yes. Really, I’ll be fine. If you’re busy, I mean.” 

“I’m staying.” Malfoy replied indignantly and crossed his arms over his chest, with a tone that was clear to both Hermione and Blaise meant there would be no further explanation. 

Blaise shrugged, looking more amused than put off by Malfoy’s attitude towards him. “All the same to me. Let’s get started.”

* * *

“And once you see that-- do you see that foaming? That means it’s ready. Now it’s very important to set it aside in a dark, cool place for at least five weeks. The longer it sits the more potent it’ll become. The more potent, the more effective and so on and so forth.”Hermione nodded eagerly, her mind racing to absorb all the new information. 

Working with Blaise had been significantly better than dating Blaise. He was witty, charming, and perfectly in his element around the shelves of ingredients. He had spent the day between teaching Hermione the inner workings of wolfsbane and recalling stories of their Hogwarts days, most of which was at Malfoy’s expense. 

The blonde had his arms permanently crossed and a sneer practically etched into his face as Blaise recounted tale after tale of Malfoy’s misfortune. But he paid no mind to his friend’s scathing looks, which Hermione thought perhaps came from years of having that look turned to him. Completely unaffected. 

“Foaming. Five weeks,” Hermione listed aloud, “anything else I should know?”

Blaise’s eyes playfully jumped from hers to Malfoy’s. “ _Well—“_

“I think that’s enough for today.” Malfoy cut in, the first time he spoke since Blaise had started his demonstration. Hermione’s brows furrowed at the cold tenor in his voice. She expected Blaise to argue, to say that she needed to be as prepared as possible for the trial, but he just hummed.

“Hmm, suit yourself. Not that important anyway.”

Malfoy grunted and turned his attention to Hermione, his features softening considerably. “We have some things to discuss, if you wouldn’t mind staying late. I could get dinner delivered?”

Hermione smiled and tried to ignore the small, pleased bubbling in her stomach. “I—“

“Chinese would be lovely,” Blaise tapped his finger on his chin. “Although I have been craving Thai lately.”

Malfoy closed his eyes just for a moment, looking as if he was collecting himself. “ _Private_ things to discuss,” he unfolded himself and extended an offering hand to Hermione to help her down from the stool. “Besides, I have no desire for takeout tonight.”

Hermione blinked at his extended hand. “You mean you want to go out?”

A voice that sounded suspiciously like Blaise muttered something like “he _does_ want to go out”, but Hermione was too focused on Malfoy’s hand. So familiar. Long, slender fingers. Strong forearms hidden beneath a perfectly pressed shirt.

“Granger?” He asked, his voice suddenly unsure. 

“Yes. Yes that would be… wonderful.”

* * *

She felt almost totally out of place with her casual work clothes, consisting of black slacks that had been washed one too many times and a simple blue sweater, in comparison to the rest of the restaurant’s patrons. 

Hermione should have figured that by Draco Malfoy offering to venture out to eat, it wouldn’t be to a pub for fish and chips. Instead he had apparated them to a beautiful cobblestone building that smelled of fresh rosemary and garlic. 

The women were beautiful in their perfectly tailored robes and tasteful jewelry and in juxtaposition, Hermione felt plain. She fiddled with the napkin on her lap as Malfoy ordered them a bottle of wine, pleased that he had opted for an oaked Chardonnay as opposed to a red. 

It reminded her of how different her life was just a few months ago. Stuck in a dead end relationship with a dead end job with a deadbeat boss. Now she sat here; single with multitudes of opportunities before her. All because of _Him._

Well, _Him_ and Malfoy. 

Over the last few weeks, the lines between the two had blurred significantly. Hermione had trouble recalling just what parts of her new life had been orchestrated by _Him_ and which had been contributed to by Malfoy. 

And she _liked_ him. Malfoy, that is. 

She touched the necklace around her throat gently. A clasp-less piece of jewelry that had signified her complete devotion to _Him._ And it made her feel guilty. The swirl of feelings that bounced between _Him_ and Malfoy. 

In any case, it was still _Malfoy._ No matter how sweet or gentle or witty or _God_ his arms… 

“Granger?” 

Hermione started, her hand falling from her neck. “Sorry?”

He took a careful sip of his drink, the wine clinging to his bottom lip when he pulled it away. Hermione bit her own lip as she watched his tongue peek out to swipe it away. 

“I thought I lost you for a minute there. You okay?” 

“Yes, of course… yes,” she shook her head, quickly taking her own sip of wine to distract from the burning in her cheeks. “I just can’t believe this is all over.”

Malfoy snorted. “Not over _yet,_ Granger. We still have the entire trial to get through, remember.” 

“Yes, well, we already know it’ll be a success,” she waved her hand as if dismissing him. “Look at you, Miss. Cocky. Merlin, have I created a monster? I think I miss a humble Hermione Granger.”  
“I don’t,” she tilted her head thoughtfully. “I… sort of forgot myself there for a while. Forgot who I was-- who I _am._ And I… _thank you._ For helping me find myself again, Malfoy.”

His smile was so warm, so genuinely heart wrenching that she had to look away. 

“Thank you to you too, Granger. For taking a chance on me...after everything.”

Hermione took another sip of her wine, her mind buzzing with the quick consumption of alcohol and the intense, palpable emotions that seemed to radiate between them. 

“Are you ready to go?” He asked when her glass was finally finished. 

She nodded and followed him out of the restaurant. 

“I’ll apparate you home,” he laughed when she stumbled slightly over the cobblestone. “I should have warned you that wine is dangerously good.” 

Hermione giggled and nodded, her mind a sudden rush of other things that were _dangerous_ and _good._

He held out his hand, guiding her into his embrace and she tucked her arms around his without question. 

“Hold on.” 

His breath fanned across her face, hot and smelling of sweet wine and mint. She could barely breathe while the world spun and rushed around her as he apparated them. She clenched her eyes shut and squeezed his arms tighter to steady herself when they landed. 

When she opened her eyes he was staring down at her, his lips parted and his brows furrowed. He hovered over her, his chin just inches from the top of her head she when she looked up at him through her lashes. 

Perhaps it was the wine or the weeks of buildup to this moment, but she felt herself sway forward slightly in his grip. 

“Granger,” he whispered. She saw his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. “I have… I have to tell you something.”

She could feel her heart hammering, her stomach a pit of fluttering wings. She parted her lips to respond, but nothing came out except a soft pant. 

“Granger,” he whispered again, his face furrowing further. His hand crept up from where he was holding her around the waist to sneak around her neck, only a hovering touch as if he was giving her room to step away. She shivered. “I have to…”

He leaned forward. Her eyes fluttered shut, her head tilting back into the hand cupped around her neck; inviting him forward. His lips only just barely grazed hers, a ghost of a touch as he went to kiss her, before she gasped. Stumbling backwards out of his hold. And he let her. 

_Him, Him, Him._

A shaking hand fisted her necklace. “Malfoy, I’m…” she licked her lips, still feeling the soft, barely there pressure of his mouth. “I’m sorry. I can’t… I… I _can’t.”_

His face was relaxed, the only sign that he was at all cognizant of what she was saying was the heave of his chest. She could barely stand to look at him, it _hurt._

_Him, Him, Him._

“I have to go.” She unlocked her door with still trembling hands. 

“Granger, wait--” 

She slammed the door behind her, pressing her back to the wood and closing her eyes. She felt so _guilty._ Guilty for Malfoy and guilty for _Him_ and guilty, guilty, _guilty._

Hermione knew he hadn’t left yet, she could still feel his presence through the inches of wall between them. But he didn’t knock. Didn’t call for her again. She willed him to leave and she hoped he would stay. 

And when the _pop_ of apparition sounded, she clutched the necklace again. She had made her choice. 

_Him, Him, Him._


	13. Down Once More

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you're going to kill me for this. I know. I've accepted it.

_ Forgive me, please forgive me  
I did it all for you, and all for nothing (Farewell my fallen idol and false friend)  
We had such hopes (Too late for turning back)  
And now those hopes are shattered (Too late for prayers and useless pity) _

* * *

She couldn’t get her mind off of him. Not  _ Him,  _ but  _ him.  _ Malfoy, who had dug himself far far into her psyche that she found it almost impossible to extract him. 

It was just  _ easy  _ to think about Malfoy as opposed to  _ Him.  _ She knew what Malfoy looked like, what he smelled like. The long curve of his jaw. The veins that corded his forearms and hands. That’s all it was, she told herself. Over and over. That’s all it was. 

When she met  _ Him,  _ when she knew  _ His  _ name, how  _ He  _ smelled, what  _ He  _ looked like: she could replace the fantasy of Malfoy. 

Malfoy, Malfoy, Malfoy. 

She just needed to get through the trial. 

The weekend had been a continuous effort to stay focused. She repeated mantras of positive affirmations, studied her notes three times over, wrote down each individual ingredient of wolfsbane and their desired effects. 

And yet, in between each thought, was  _ him.  _

Malfoy in glasses, his brow furrowed over the thick frames. Malfoy removing his coat jacket, sliding it from his broad shoulders and rolling up his perfectly pressed sleeves. His full lips, his long lashes, the warm callous of his hands. 

It made her heart race, it made her womb clench, it made her dizzy. But most of all, it made her  _ guilty.  _

Here she was, tied to someone through links of gold around her neck.  _ He,  _ who had worked so hard to help her.  _ He,  _ who had promised himself to her ardently. 

And then Malfoy, who had let her  _ use  _ him for his money, his connections, his knowledge without question. Wonderful,  _ selfless  _ Malfoy who had offered himself to her. And she had turned him away. 

She couldn’t properly sleep. For the first time, she had begun to doubt herself. Doubt  _ Him.  _ Who knows when or even  _ if  _ the mysterious phantom would reveal himself. In his most recent notes, filled with subtle tones of affection and promises, never did he even  _ hint  _ at a possible encounter. 

And  _ God,  _ poor Malfoy. Had she led him to believe there was something there? Had she let touches linger too long? Shared one too many late nights together in his office? 

She was the worst kind of woman. And by Monday morning, she was tugging on the clothes she had picked for the trial, a fitted skirt suit, wondering how she would face Malfoy. 

What would he say? What would she? 

A pecking sound gave from her window and her stomach lurched, feeling more guilty than excited for what was undoubtedly an encouraging note from  _ Him.  _

The owl released the letter before flying back to where he came from, Hermione no longer starring after it; wondering where he would lead her to. 

_ Granger,  _

_ Joan of Arc was a true female warrior: brave and strong and just. It was a vision of  _ _ the Archangel Michael that pushed her to join the French resistance. And though everyone doubted her, Michael did not. Her efforts ended the Siege of Orleans in just nine days, something that was taking men entirely too long.  _

_ I think of myself as your vision of Michael, and you my brave, strong, just female warrior.  _

_ Though you would expect me to offer you good luck, I feel it would be an insult to the confidence I feel in you. Instead, I offer you your first congratulations on a successful appeal. The world is better to have you in it.  _

_ P.s. I’ll be there with you the entire time today, just as Michael was with Joan.  _

Hermione smiled, clutching the note to her chest and feeling more sure than she had all weekend.  _ I’ll be there with you the entire time,  _ it said. Did that mean he’d be  _ there?  _ Watching her? She thought she should feel nervous, not knowing where he would be or how he would see her. But she felt excited, empowered even. A dark angel watching over her. 

For good measure, she tucked the note into the breast pocket of her suit for safe keeping, right over the nervous beat in her chest. Untucking the gold chain from her collar and letting it rest over her blouse. 

“Miss. Granger?”

The Ministry was a bustle of people on a Monday morning. Unsuspecting employees arriving to work mindlessly, not aware of the monumentous, deciding trial that would be taking place soon. 

Hermione gave Dennis an encouraging grin. She had requested he join her and Malfoy as their legal assistant for the trial. She was happy someone else would be taking Malfoy’s notes besides her for once. 

“Are you ready, Dennis?”

“More than,” he puffed out his chest proudly, displaying his court badge and stacks of envelopes. “I’ve brought an extra ink pot and parchment that copies itself so you can Malfoy can have your own sheets while I write.”

“Have you seen Malfoy?” Hermione craned her neck, trying to catch a glimpse of familiar blonde hair. 

“Not since I’ve arrived. But it’s still early, the Wizengamot has yet to arrive as well.” 

Hermione nodded, worrying her lip between her teeth. Malfoy had made it a point to request they arrive early to prepare Dennis. Where was he? 

“No matter. Let’s go set up, I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”

* * *

He was late. More than. The Apothecary owners were already in their seats; Colton Fields and Jackie Poole sending each other notes looks and glares in her direction, while Elgin Browne looked entirely indifferent with a newspaper folded in his hands. 

“Dennis,” she whispered urgently. “Any word about Malfoy?”

He shook his head, his brows furrowing in concern. “Nothing that’s come my way.”

Hermione sighed, rolling the sleeves of her suit to check her wristwatch. “Would you mind seeing if reception has heard anything? We’re starting in less than ten minutes now.”

Dennis bobbed his head in am eager nod and took off, while Hermione turned her attention to the stands. There were many unfamiliar faces, though none that stood out to her. She imagined she would  _ know  _ once she saw Him, but every face seemed to blend together. Her stomach began to roll. Without Malfoy here, without  _ Him  _ here, would she be able to pull this off? 

“Malfoy sent an owl about a half hour ago,” she heard Dennis’s relieved voice from behind her and a piece of parchment slipped in front of her. “He said he’s running late but he should be here soon, thank Merlin.”

Annoyed, Hermione huffed and began to unfurl the note. 

“Honestly, they should have delivered it to us the minute--” her voice caught. 

_ To whom it may concern, _

_ Please advise the counsel of Hermione Granger and Dennis Creevy that I, Draco Malfoy-- _

With shaking hands, she ran her index finger over her name. 

_ The way the G curved delicately into the R and slanted and looped and flourished.  _

“What--” she whispered to herself, her eyes flickering over the note once, twice, again, again.

_ The bars the crossed the t’s were heavily slanted downwards. They were authoritative. Wide left margins, large script, oversized capitals, ink filled loops in the o’s. Prideful. Independent. Confident.  _

_ From the hard press of the lines and the right slant of the text, she could tell they were a male.  _

_ She imagined large, sure hands dipping its quill into the ink pot. Carefully, surely writing every word on the parchment.  _

She swallowed, her hands trembling around the note. 

_ “Do you ever take your own notes?”  _

_ Hermione was hunched over the page, interrupting as Malfoy said “take this down” for what seemed like the millionth time that day.  _

_ He tapped his finger against his chin. “I’m supplying the money, the knowledge, the connections, and the chair you’re sitting in. The least you could do is jot down some notes.” _

“Miss. Granger?” 

_ “Pansy, could you… could you tell me who purchased this dress?” _

_ Pansy’s annoyed expression melted away into a smirk. “Oh, Granger, you wouldn’t believe me even if I did.” _

“Miss. Granger…”

_ “But it seems he’s really changed. He’s even asked about you.” _

_ “Me?” Hermione sputtered loudly, blushing when the rest of the group turned their attention to her for a moment and then back to the baby. “Sorry… What did he say?” _

_ Harry shrugged, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Just asked how you were and what you were up to in life.” _ _   
_ _ “What did you tell him?” _

_ “Well,” Harry pondered carefully. “I told him about your job at the ministry. Oh and how you and Ron were still together at the time. I don’t think much, really, it was just a casual conversation.” _

“Hermione!”

Hermione blinked, watching Dennis Creevey stare down at her with a concerned furrow to his eyebrow. 

“Sorry,” she swallowed, clearing her throat and tucking the note into her breast pocket. The two folded pieces of parchment seemed much heavier on her chest. “Sorry, Dennis--”

“Malfoy’s here.”

With mere moments to spare, he pushed open the door to courtroom ten.  _ He  _ stood out. Among a sea of faces, you could always find Draco Malfoy. Perhaps it was the way his large frame commanded the room. Or perhaps it just felt that way. 

And she  _ saw  _ him, perhaps for the first time. The blurred lines that had begun between he and  _ Him  _ finally disappeared. 

She watched him greet everyone, even those who he was about to testify against. Always charming. Always getting his way. All fake smiles and fake attentiveness and fake, fake,  _ fake.  _

And  _ God,  _ she was so  _ stupid.  _ It was there, right in front of her. All the pieces that she just needed to put together and refused to. And now they began piecing themselves together, forcing her to stare at the onslaught of betrayal as the picture began to form. 

He was  _ He.  _ The was no  _ He  _ anymore, only Malfoy. 

Malfoy who knew of her vulnerability. Malfoy who had gotten to where he was in life by finding vulnerability, latching onto it, and sucking the life from it. And she had let him.

Except this time they weren’t children in the schoolyard, throwing vicious insults back and forth. Spitting harmless hexes. She was being hunted by him,  _ used  _ by him. And she had let him. 

If she looked at him any longer, she’d be sick. So she turned away, diverting her eyes from the scene of handshakes and forced smiles that reminded her exactly who Malfoy was. Exactly who  _ He  _ was. 

“Sorry I’m late,” her stomach lurched when he took his seat, unbuttoning his coat. “Had an emergency in the labs, I hope I didn’t miss much.”

She knew he was smiling at her. She could  _ feel  _ it. Burning into her, searing her skin. Fake, fake, fake. 

“Granger?”

She stared straight ahead, watching the Wizengamot members take their seats, ignoring the man next to her. 

“Granger?” The Chief Warlock banged his gavel, calling attention to the front of the room. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” she managed to reply. “Let’s just do this.”

* * *

It was like being on autopilot. Verbal vomit of everything she learned the past few months. She could feel his eyes on her the entire time, flickering from the front of the room to the side of her head, trying to get her attention. 

They asked her questions, anything to slip her up.

_ “Who--” _

_ “When--” _

_ “Where--” _

_ “How--” _

And for every answer, she shot back her own questions.

“Why--”

“Why--”

_ “Why--” _

She could see in their faces when they had conceded. She had worn them down, breaking off piece by piece, finding their weak spots, latching on, draining the life from them. Just as Malfoy taught her. 

Fields had stormed out of the courtroom before the gavel came down again, no doubt going back to his store with his tail between his legs. 

Hermione was up and out as soon as they were properly dismissed, leaving her papers on the table; knowing Dennis would sort and deliver them to her. Bless him.

Malfoy was still trying to get her attention, pushing through the crowd of people exiting the courtroom to get to her.    
“Granger!” 

She pretended not to hear him, crossing the room through a maze of shoulders. She needed to leave. She needed to get out. 

“Granger…”

Hermione scrambled for the nearest vacant room, throwing the door open wide and taking big, gulping breaths of air once she was finally alone. She heard him enter after her, closing the door gently behind him. 

“Granger?”

“You’re not Him.”

She turned on her heels, watching his face carefully set in the low light of the room. A blank, guarded stare. It  _ infuriated  _ her. 

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’re not  _ Him,”  _ she stepped forward on a heavy breath, stopping just feet from him. “You  _ can’t  _ be.”

“I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She growled, ripping the scrap of parchment from her pocket. “I  _ know.  _ I know this handwriting. I’ve memorized it, I’ve studied it.  _ 1,245  _ words in this handwriting, Malfoy, so don’t you  _ dare _ lie to me. Stop  _ lying  _ to me.” 

His eyes assessed the paper clenched in her fist. A flicker of recognition before his face dropped, morphing into something resembling guilt.  _ Or as much of a facade of guilt as Malfoy could conjure up _ , she thought. 

“Granger--”

“ _ Why?”  _ her voice was a cross between a whisper and a sob, his note tattering in her hand. 

“I--” he licked his lips, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he seemed to scramble for something to say. “This wasn’t how-- Granger,  _ please,  _ you have to understand--”

She shook her head, taking steps back to create more space between them. He watched the movement and his eyes flashed, wrinkling around the corners as if he was in pain. 

“Let me tell you what I understand,  _ Malfoy,”  _ he winced at the accusatory use of his last name, a reminder of who he  _ really  _ was. “You heard from Ginny or from Harry how truly  _ pathetic  _ Hermione Granger’s life had turned into. Hermione Granger who, how convenient, works for a  _ very  _ important important division for your business at the Ministry. And what could be better for  _ Malfoy  _ and his business than Hermione Granger, under his thumb and  _ in debt  _ to him, becoming the head of said division.”

He was shaking his head dumbly, his eyes flickered back and forth between hers, “That’s  _ not- _ ”

“What I  _ don’t  _ understand--  _ God,  _ Malfoy, can’t you just let me be? Was it not  _ enough?  _ It wasn’t enough that you tormented me for years or that I was tortured in your home by your aunt, it wasn’t  _ enough-- _ ” her words caught in her throat, stuck on a sob that broke her voice. 

He took a step forward, his eyes wild as if trapped in a room with a wounded animal. “Granger, please--” he tried to soothe her, reaching a hand out. 

She stepped back, “ _ Don’t.  _ Just--  _ Don’t.  _ I-I can’t even… and just  _ everything-- _ ”

His arm dropped to his side, just jaw beginning to set. “ _ Fuck,  _ Malfoy, and what of Mr. Burk? Did you--  _ fuck,”  _ her throat felt like a vat of acid, burning and raw, sick. “What of him?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to,  _ Granger.”  _ he was a dog with his hackles raised, defensive and volatile. 

_ “Malfoy.” _

“He’s  _ alive,  _ if that’s what you’re insinuating of me. Wandering the streets of Paris believing himself to be a sailor named Penny Fickle.” 

Hermione’s shoulders slumped slightly, relieved that Malfoy had not… that he hadn’t… for  _ her…  _

“And Ron?” she whispered.

He sucked his teeth, “Nothing a little skele-gro couldn’t fix, I knew that.” 

“That’s not that point,” she hissed, “You can’t just…  _ hurt  _ people!”

“They hurt you!” he shot back, his fist clenching at his sides. 

Hermione gulped, they stared at each other in silence for a long moment. Both heaving their chests with big gulps of breath. She slumped against the wall behind her, her head falling back and tears leaking down her temple. 

“Stop it--”

“Everything I’ve done, Granger-- _ everything--  _ has been for you. There was no…  _ ulterior  _ motive. I didn’t want a Ministry worker in my pocket--”

“Stop--”

“-- I wanted  _ you.  _ And I would have done anything for you--”

“Malfoy--”

“-- I didn’t tell you… I didn’t tell you. And I should have. But I just needed the  _ chance,  _ Granger. To show you--  _ prove  _ to you that I’m different now. I wanted you to know  _ me.  _ Not Malfoy or someone whose papers you stamp off on--”

“ _ Please--”  _ she whispered desperately. 

“I wanted you to want me. I wanted you to want me how I want you. I’m  _ him.  _ I’m all of him, just  _ please  _ let me prove to you…”

She shook her head against the wall, willing herself not to look at him. She heard him take tentative steps forward until she could see his looming figure out of the corner of her eyes. She didn’t stop him when he carefully placed a hand behind her neck or when he positioned the other one over where her necklace rested on her chest.    
“What you feel for him, you feel for me too, Granger. I know you do. We’re not too separate people,” he whispered tentatively and Hermione closed her eyes, her head spinning. “You promised yourself to me once, all I ask is that you keep it. Will you have me, Granger?”

_ Lies,  _ her mind told her,  _ lies and lies and more lies. Sending Pansy with pretty dresses. Whoring her out to his friend in hopes of money and when she failed, he was forced to do the dirty work himself. He knew Mary Parsons.  _

_ “No.” _

The room fell silent, as if they were frozen in time. Not a breath shared between them. The necklace clasped around her neck fell limply into his hands and when Hermione finally opened her eyes, he was staring down at it blankly. 

“Let me go, Malfoy.” 

His fist curled tightly around the pendant. Ate, the Greek goddess of obsession, infatuation, and mischief. Avenging evil deeds and inflicting punishments upon the offenders and their posterity. 

He knew what she meant. Not only unwrapping his hand from his neck, but stepping to the side. Letting her go. She had decided. 

She stepped away from the wall, her legs and hands feeling numb as they guided her to the door. 

“Granger, I--”

She told herself not to turn around, not to give him the satisfaction. But she did, perhaps to prove to herself. And when she did, she almost stopped right there. The pure, tortured vulnerability that stared back at her. 

“I don’t regret it,” he whispered. “There are many parts of it I’ll regret, sure. I should have told you sooner. Should have savoured the time we had together more. But you deserve to be head of the DRCMC and you deserve to be happy, not because you’re Hermione Granger, but because you’re  _ you...  _ I don’t regret that.”

She left him in the room, separating herself finally. She walked numbly through the ministry hallways, ignoring the words of encouragement from those who had witnessed the success of the trial. Ignored the attempts for reporters to get a statement. She felt the cord that had attached her and Malfoy together begin to strain and tear with each step. 

She had made her decision. So why did it feel like the wrong one?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost at the end here everyone!   
> Thank you for all the birthday wishes and love this past week, please go check out the collection my wonderful friends made for me of smutty, shameless stories <3


	14. Learn to be Lonely

_Never dreamed out in the world_   
_There are arms to hold you_   
_You've always known_   
_Your heart was on its own_

* * *

Life after Ron was built around little instances and reminders. Less socks to pair after the laundry, removal of any and all Quidditch related items from the flat, buying 2% instead of whole milk. 

Life after Malfoy, after  _ Him,  _ was like losing memories. Big, gaping holes of  _ something  _ that once was. You can feel the memories blurred in the back of your mind, but the more you reach out the farther repressed they become.

She  _ missed  _ him, she decided after a long and exhausting week with Ginny, Harry, and James. She loved them. Loved watching her friends as parents, loved listening to James struggle in his desperation to talk, the coos and babbles he’d make instead. 

But, she tried to distract herself with them. Having taken off of work the few days following the trial, desperate to surround herself with things that did  _ not  _ remind her of Malfoy, she found herself clinging to the Potter’s open door policy. 

They distracted her by exhausting her. By the end of each day, she was so emotionally worn that she didn’t have the  _ energy  _ to be upset over Malfoy or consider what this all meant for her career. 

She was still under his thumb. The connections she made were not her own, but Malfoy’s. And what did that mean for her future job prospects? Even with a successful trial, who was to say that Mary Parsons would offer her the job if Malfoy had something to say about it? 

It was frustrating, the conflicting feelings she had about him. She trusted him, but she didn’t. She cared for him, but she didn’t. She  _ missed  _ him, but she didn’t. Because she didn’t really know who  _ he  _ was. 

Was the Malfoy she knew the true Malfoy? The coward, the tormentor, the arrogant ferret? Or was he who she had come to know? Gentle and passionate and devoted? 

Or could they coexist? Could Malfoy be both things? 

Hermione sighed, pressing her fingers to her eyes and pressing lightly until bright spots appeared behind her eyelids. She promised herself she’d return to work today, to sit at her desk and keep her head down. Just as she should have done from the beginning.

Her desk felt foreign to her now. She had become to use to Malfoy’s large, sleek wood desk that she had forgotten all the dents in hers or the way the bottom drawer didn’t open all the way. It didn’t  _ feel  _ like her own anymore; another thing Malfoy took away from her. 

“Hermione.”

She removed her fingers from her eyes, blinking away the bulbs of color. Mary grinned down at her.

“I’m so glad I caught you, I know you took off a few days — well deserved by the way!— but I was hoping to talk to you. Do you mind?”

She gestured to the open door of Mr. Burk’s old office, the place Mary had been using as a makeshift setup. 

It was empty now. Without the man’s poorly decorated knickknacks and unmatching furniture, it looked beautiful. Sophisticated. An office Hermoine always dreamed of having for herself and yet, she only felt dread. 

It was her fault Mr. Burk wasn’t here, if only indirectly. And now it was being taken from her too.

Suddenly, the door shut and she was engulfed in a tight hug. 

“I know this is unprofessional,” Mary mumbled against her shoulder. “But  _ thank you.  _ Thank you.”

Hermione stood awkwardly, her arms stuck at her side until Mary finally let go. The older woman wiped a small amount of moisture from the corner of her eye.

“I’ve said it before, but I see  _ so  _ much of myself in you. This whole mess,” she shook her head, “ _ no one  _ could have done this but you. Absolutely brilliant.” 

“I—“ Hermione cleared her throat. “I just did what I felt was right to.”

“Which is exactly what I admire about you, Hermione. Always leading by your heart and not your wallet,” Hermione looked anywhere but Mary’s genuine face, preparing herself for the inevitable let down. “Which is exactly what this department needs.”

Hermione paused. “Sorry?” 

“Putting Burk in charge was… a dreadful oversight. I swore to myself that when he was gone, I’d finally put someone in charge that  _ deserves  _ it. That belongs here. And you do.”

Hermione sputtered, forcing out another, “Sorry?”

Mary smiled warmly. “I spoke to Draco and he was so impressed with all your hard work these last few weeks together.”

Well… that was unexpected.

“He said that?”

“He did. He—“ Mary laughed. “He was pretty adamant about it.”

“He was?”

“Not that I needed much persuading. You’ve proven yourself thrice over. What do you say?” She gestured to the empty office. The beautiful desk, the large bookshelves. “Are you ready to be where you belong?” 

* * *

She sat in the office for hours. Long after Mary had left her, a gentle pat on the shoulder and an invitation to meet various DRCMC colleagues the next day at a celebration dinner for the reintroduction of the wolfsbane bill. A dinner in Hermione’s honor. In Malfoy’s honor. 

She sat, even after Dennis prompted her that even _ he  _ was leaving for the day. She was amazed. 

The first time she had used her magic was not out of anger, like most magical children’s introduction to their powers. Instead, it was of pure will. She was always much shorter than those in her daycare, her eyesight falling below any countertop. 

Someone had brought in cookies for their birthday. And in juxtaposition to who Hermione Granger grew to be, she was an impatient and petulant child. 

She didn’t  _ want  _ to wait to sing happy birthday. She didn’t want the last, smallest cookie that was smushed in the pile. She tried reaching for the plate, pressing her face to the cabinet and smacking her hand around the countertop in a blind search for it. 

She huffed when she realized it was pushed too far away for her to reach. Instead, she stepped back front the counter and shut her eyes tight,  _ willing  _ it into her hand. And when she opened them again, the cookie was floating on a cloud of smoke in front her.

She had gasped, reached for the cookie; the bubble popping and the treat falling into her palm. 

It was the same way she felt now. Staring at the cookie in her hand, unsure of how it ended up in her possession.  _ Amazed.  _

She sighed, the maintenance elves flickering the lights off to signal the end of their cleaning leaving her in the dark. She finally left, shutting the door behind her and apparating to the end of her street. 

She kept a slow pace, not in any rush to her flat. But when the building was in sight, the bright lights of the ice cream shop below cast a light on a figure with long, dark hair tapping their foot impatiently.    
“Pansy?”

“Took you long enough,” her cool voice echoing on the empty street. “I was just about to leave.”

“Can I help you with something?” 

“No. I have a delivery for you.” she lifted a white box in her hand pointedly. It was similar, if not exactly like the garment box she had left with Hermione only weeks prior. 

Hermione sighed. “I haven’t ordered anything.”

Pansy rolled her eyes, a gesture that was decidedly  _ loud  _ although her mouth was silent. “You haven’t, but  _ he  _ did. And if you don’t take this box out of my hands, I’m throwing it into the gutter.”

The box was suddenly shoved into her stomach, Pansy flipping her long hair behind her shoulder. 

“Oh, and when you inevitably see Draco again, will you  _ please  _ let him know I’m not a messenger owl?” 

“I--”

But Pansy was gone. A soft  _ pop  _ of apparation and she was staring at her front door. Balancing the box in one arm, she clumsily unlocked her door and made her way up the flight of stairs. 

She deposited the box onto her coffee table, which had at one time held all of Malfoy’s letters. They were now stuffed into his book, buried under her bed, shoved as far away as possible. 

She stared at it. Reached her hand out, then pulled it back. Looked away. Looked back. Sighed. 

“For Merlin’s sake, Hermione,” she grumbled to herself, pulling the box onto her lap. “You can do this.”

She ripped apart the box, afraid that if she were to take any time in opening it that her hands would stop. Instead she tore at it, digging her nails into the material and shredding away until she was left looking at neatly folded tissue paper with a large, cream envelope with the word  _ Granger  _ written on the front. 

There was no mystery this time. The first letter she ever got directly from him. 

_ Granger, _

_ I’m a proud man, as I was raised to be. A proud man, except when it comes to you. I have no doubts that I should not be writing this letter or sending you this package. I would not even be surprised if this has ended up in your fireplace unopened. But in the small chance you do, I’m not too proud of a man to beg you to read on. _

_ By this time, you’ve probably already been offered the supervisor job by Mary. I’d like to offer your first congratulations, it was well deserved even without my meddling. But I feel that I still must explain why I did what I did, in the way that I did.  _

_ On December 15th two years ago at approximately 8:24 in the evening, you arrived at the ministry Holiday ball. I know the time down to a second, because that was the moment I had lost myself entirely. Irreparably. _

_ You wore a blue dress, one so simple and easy to overlook in a grand event like that. But when I saw you, I couldn’t look away. You looked like a painting, like La Musicienne, the embodiment of femininity and fatale. I tried to get your attention all night and when I finally did, you sneered at me. From that moment, I was gone for you.  _

_ The first person I ever spoke to about you was Pansy. The dress had come from her shop, where she worked as the seamstress at the time, and when I saw it hanging in the shop window weeks after, I implored her to tell me about it. She said you hadn’t the money to pay for it, so the shop owner let you borrow it for the ball. Perks of being a savior of the free world.  _

_ I asked Potter about you. Tried to know you while keeping my distance. He told me about your job, about how they didn’t appreciate your hard work or your talent. That your pay was little more than scraps in comparison to the long nights you spent and the passion you have for your work.  _

_ It infuriated me. They didn’t see you how I see you, they didn’t see your potential as I did. Worst of all, you didn’t either.  _

_ The first note I sent was a fluke. I’m sure you know by now Mary Parsons is a close friend of my family and she had mentioned in passing how your boss had begun to ignore his responsibilities. I wanted her to see you, see you as I see you. And so I asked you to stay late. And for some reason, an unlikely chance, you listened. You trusted me even though you didn’t know me.  _

_ That day and every day after, I’ve been at your mercy. I clung to the feeling of your unwavering faith in me, though it wasn’t me who you had faith in but a faceless phantom. And if I wanted to keep that trust, I’d have to stay that way.  _

_ I thought Theo would be the safest option. He had money and connections and, most importantly, no negative memories associated with him. That was the only time you ever questioned me, which only led you to me.  _

_ You didn’t trust me at first, I didn’t expect you to. But, blessedly, you gave me a chance. Me, Malfoy. All I’ve ever wanted was to be loved for myself, by you. I created this mask to guard myself, afraid that if you knew it was me from the beginning I would be met with rejection. I wanted to keep you, and so I stayed hidden.  _

_ What I feel for you if perhaps more than you’ve prepared for. My devotion for you knows no bounds and it is both shameful and delightful to confess that to you. I lose no sleep at night for what I’ve done. I would do it all again, three times over if you asked that of me.  _

_ But this devotion is not without selfishness. I long for you, yearn for you, crave for you ardently. Which is why I will hide in the shadows once more, waiting for you to need me again. Waiting for you. And if that time never comes, I will still die a most fulfilled man knowing the feeling of having you even for a moment.  _

_ Desperately yours,  _

_ D.M _

Hermione let out one shaking breath she wasn’t aware she was holding. She trailed a fingertip over the  _ D,  _ traced the  _ M  _ with her nail, before setting it aside carefully. 

Eyeing the tissue paper as if it would explode when she touched it, and in juxtaposition to the savagery in which she ripped apart its cover, she gently peeled back each layer. 

Her breath caught again. 

She remembered the first time she ever say this dress. It was mere days before the Ministry’s Holiday ball. Hermione’s first as a new employee for the DRCMC. 

She and Ron has already used their reparation money from the Ministry to pay for their first apartment in full, needing a quiet place to call theirs finally. Which left them scraping together sickles until Hermione’s first paycheck. Not enough to buy a new dress for the occasion. Which was quite alright with Hermione, as she never had the eye for fashion or the need for material grandeur. 

But this… This dress. She saw it in the window of a boutique on the off chance that she had made a wrong turn down Diagon Alley. It stood out against the soft neutrals that were all the rage at that time. Sophisticated and elegant and commanded the attention of everyone who walked by it, even for just the moment they glanced as they passed. It was everything she wanted to embody in her new position, in her new life. 

Her feet had led her into the shop before she could stop herself, her hand reaching out to trail over the fabric longingly. The owner was an older wizard with kind eyes, which Hermione remembered vividly as it was just as blue as the dress. He had recognized her, of course he had, and offered to sell her the dress right off the mannequin. 

She begrudgingly refused.  _ I haven’t got the money at the moment,  _ she had said,  _ but it’s just such a lovely dress I couldn’t help myself.  _

He instead offered to let her borrow it for the gala.  _ A small gesture of kindness,  _ he had said,  _ to a woman who has already given the world so much.  _

Although Malfoy was right in saying that it wasn’t the most attention-catching, she felt the power and praise from  _ herself  _ in it. She had never felt so powerful, so  _ worthy  _ as she did in that dress.

She swore to herself that her first paycheck would go to that dress, whether or not her and Ron would have to scramble for grocery money for another two weeks. She handed the dress back to the shop owner with a silent promise between her and the garment that she would be back. 

When she did, money in hand, it was already gone. 

And here it was now. Just as she remembered it. She picked up the straps and began to unravel it. She could see herself in this dress. Even more, she could see herself in this dress next to Malfoy. Her hand on his arm as they entered any room as if it was  _ theirs _ . 

Hermione cradled the dress to her chest, happy to be reunited with it once again. And yet, still feeling so empty.

* * *

“Wow.” 

“Yes.”

“I mean…  _ wow.  _ All this time?” 

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t know?”

Hermione grunted, sliding the letter back across the table. James babbled incessantly in Ginny’s arms as if to draw all the attention to himself. Instead, Ginny placed a hand through his short curls and sushed, never taking her bewildered eyes off Hermione. 

“Doesn’t that make me completely  _ stupid?  _

“Blind perhaps.”

“Thanks, Gin.”

Ginny hummed, her forehead crinkling in thought. “But I’m confused why you’re here. And not, you know, bent over his--”

_ “God,”  _ Hermione put her head in her hands, “Your child is  _ right there.” _

“He doesn’t understand what I’m saying. Besides, without sex he wouldn’t even be here. Anyway, I appreciate the company and all with Harry back at work but, er, don’t you think you should be going to find Malfoy?”

“I came over here for you to talk me out of it, Gin,” she uncovered her face, smacking her palms onto the tabletop lightly. “I thought you  _ hated  _ the whole phantom lover, mysterious admirer thing.”

“I did,” Ginny said slowly, “But… I like Malfoy. I didn’t know  _ him,  _ but I know Malfoy.”

“Well, we’re at an impasse because I only know  _ him,  _ not  _ Malfoy.  _ I just… can’t reconcile the two. They’re not the  _ same.” _

“But they  _ are, _ Hermione. And not to mention, you were completely fine with a stranger doing all of  _ that  _ for you. Sending you pretty dresses and breaking your boyfriend’s leg-- which… I suppose I should talk to Malfoy about, eh? But anyhow, suddenly none of that is okay because it’s him?”

_ “Yes!”  _ Hermione threw her hands up. “Exactly! Because I know who Malfoy is and he’s not  _ that.  _ He’s not this gentle, caring man that I knew. He’s… He’s a  _ snake!  _ Who does things only in the interest to get what he wants! And I was just, what? A pawn for his game?”

Ginny snorted, tapping her finger onto the letter still opened on the table. “No, Hermione, you  _ are _ the game. Everyone else are the pawns. I know what you think, but was  _ he  _ really such a sweet, gentle guy to begin with? He broke Ron’s  _ leg.  _ He made your boss  _ disappear.  _ That’s neither sweet nor gentle.”

Hermione said nothing, blinking down at her hands flat on the table and absorbing Ginny’s words.

“In fact… does that not sound  _ exactly  _ like something Malfoy would do?” Ginny sighed, reaching across the table to take Hermione’s hand in hers. “I can’t tell you what to do or how to feel. You can walk away from this with a new job and a new start in life and nothing will change, I don’t think Malfoy is looking for some kind of repayment. Right?”

“Right.” Hermione whispered. 

But she couldn’t. After so long, she couldn’t imagine starting her new life without  _ Him.  _ Without  _ Malfoy _ . She had already interwoven him into her future and extracting him was leaving wounds everywhere. 

“So the question now is… what are you going to do when you see him tomorrow?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god it's almost over *crying emoji* I'll have a longer note at the end of next chapter, but I think you all know where this is going... expect some shameless filth <3

**Author's Note:**

> Let's chat on tumblr: dirty-mudblood.tumblr.com


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